


tempests of dust

by scrunchyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry Styles, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Prince Harry Styles, Royal Harry, Secret Identity, Top Louis Tomlinson, niall is barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchyharry/pseuds/scrunchyharry
Summary: Louis lived an ordinary life, albeit in an extraordinary place. His family, alongside many others, were mandated to maintain the fortress of Bourbon-l’Archambault, one of the many castles belonging to the crown of France. It was thankless work, but it was a roof over their heads and a quiet, steady life. For all that he knew, the Crown had forgotten Bourbon-l’Archambault even existed, which suited him quite well.That was until the Dauphin, Prince Harry, came to stay for a summer and decided that he would experience the life of a peasant, for his own personal growth, without any regards to how it would affect others. After a summer spent together, the thought of parting ways was too much to bear and they struck a deal: Louis would pretend to be a duke at the court of Versailles for a season: if after three months, he was miserable, Harry would let him return to his former life without making a fuss.Did they really think it would be that simple?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 60
Kudos: 268
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	tempests of dust

**Author's Note:**

> By now, I think it's becoming obvious that I can't resist an historical AU, especially not if it takes place in a castle. I am nothing if I'm not predictable. 
> 
> All of the French is my own, because unlike a previous attempt at German in another fic ([the sanctity of patience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773434), give it a read), French is actually my first language. 
> 
> The amazing art was done by the wonderful [neon--diamonds](https://neon--diamonds.tumblr.com/). I literally gasped when I saw her art after finding out she had picked me. I truly am lucky to have worked with someone so talented.
> 
> The title comes from the theme song for the tv show Versailles, because, again, predictable.

The sun was barely appearing over the horizon as Louis quietly shut the door to the kitchen and stepped out into the crisp morning air. He picked up his bag of tools and hitched it over his shoulder before making his way down towards the gardens, his steps kicking swirls through the early morning fog. There was a chill in the air, a reminder that it was still only spring, and he fought against a shiver when a gust of wind surprised him at the turn of the road, blowing in from the Burge. Louis looked down at the village in the valley below, imagining it slowly waking up as the sun rose behind it, painting the sky with a palette of pinks and oranges.

Calling them  _ gardens _ was generous, Louis thought as he made his way to the barely tamed spread of greenery circling the castle. It was once a beauty, he imagined, back at the beginning of the century, at a time when Bourbon-l’Archambault had been appreciated by the monarchy enough for Madame de Montespan to come and die there, but ever since those days, it had slowly fallen into disrepair. The castle’s retinue, which had included Louis’ family for generations, did its best to keep the old medieval fortress standing, but without much interest from the King, Louis wondered how long they could keep it up.

Ignoring the gardens, dreading having to pick through thorns so early in the day, Louis instead made a turn towards the vegetable patch his mother and the rest of the kitchen staff has developed a few years back in an attempt to feed everyone better.

Lost in his thoughts, his mind worrying about various leaks and cracks that he had to attend to, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the deafening sound of hooves approaching at a running speed. One second it had been silent and the next it rose through the air like thunder. He looked to the left, down towards the village, and saw a cloud of dust and out of it emerged a cart pulled by two large brown horses.

“Make way!” the coachman called. “Make way!”

Louis jumped back a few feet as the cart passed him. It was filled with more food than Louis had seen in his entire life, enough to feed an army, it seemed to him. Whole wheels of cheese, sacks of grains, flour and sugar, colourful fruits and vegetables and entire animals’ worth of cured meat, and heaven knew what else he did not have time to see.

Following it was a gilded carriage decorated with fleur-de-lys. Louis’ heart seized in his chest: the royal heraldry. It couldn’t be that; surely, his eyes deceived him. There had not been a Bourbon at the castle in over a decade, not since the  _ Dauphin _ , a child at the time, had been sent here to protect him from a typhus epidemic spreading through Paris.

These memories seemed unreal to Louis; he had been a child, too, and barely remembered the prince’s presence, even if his mother insisted he had spent half a year with them, just a five years old boy and his  _ nourrice _ , alone in the draughty fortress.

Pushing the memories away, Louis hurried back where he came from, entering the kitchen just as his mother came in from the servant’s quarters, tying up apron in a hurry.

“Did you—” he began asking, but she waved her hand to shush him.

“No time for this, we have visitors. Go change and then straight upstairs to help them unpack, I have a proper breakfast to make, good heavens, they could have written a few days ahead, but no,  _ no _ , after all we’re just like another Fontainebleau, aren’t we? Exactly the same thing—oh, Marie let the stove go out over night, I am going to gut—”

Louis ran out of the kitchen before he heard what his mother was going to do to the poor scullery maid. 

It took him a moment to find his livery and another to remember how to put it on—they had yearly rehearsals, but Louis usually found an excuse to miss them. His only thought, as he worked on the endless buttons, was that he hoped it still fit him. He had no time to wash up and only ran a wet hand through his hair, scrubbing at a patch of dirt on his cheek before he ran up to the main hall, joining the rest of the footmen and maids gathered in front of a man wearing what Louis assumed was the upper rank variation of his own livery.

“Perhaps this one will know,” the man said, pointing at Louis when he saw him joining the crowd. “How many rooms are available here?”

“R-rooms? I’m not sure… I think thirty?” Louis replied, frowning. He had never bothered to count them. “Sir,” he added quickly, remembering his training.

“Bedrooms, you dolt. How many bloody beds are there here? How is it possible that no one knows this? The—” he stopped, pressed his lips together, “Guests are arriving in a few days, we have to tell them how many.”

“Arriving from where?” Louis asked.

“That is none of your business.” The man sniffed. “How many beds?” he repeated, snapping his fingers.

“Only five bedrooms are still in good enough shape to be slept in, but they will need a lot of work.”

“Then get to it. Which way to the kitchen?”

Louis pointed him the right way and let out a sigh when he left. He felt eyes on him and sighed once more when he understood that he would have to oversee the next few days’ preparation.

* * *

Exhausted, his entire body sore from turning a crumbling castle into a liveable place in the space of three days, Louis did not find the strength to get out of bed on the morning of the guests’ arrival. He heard the rest of the staff getting ready from his bed, but he pretended to be ill when his mother came knocking on the door, urging him up. She scolded him, but he pulled the covers higher over his head and went back to sleep. What did he care about some high-ranking people coming here and disturbing the peace of their life so they could experience their own distorted definition of a rural life? He was  _ tired _ .

He slept for a while longer and then quickly made his escape from the house, grabbing some bread and cheese while the kitchen was deserted, and walking away as fast as he could to get out of sight, making his way through the undergrowth that had once been a well-tended garden. He walked at a brisk pace, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin and the silence.

Life in the castle had been such mayhem in the past days, and Louis hoped he never would have to beat dust out of old mattresses while some rude man thinking he is God himself barked orders at him. Everyone had been yelling orders, it seemed, and now that they had done all that they could and it had been made clear to Louis that he would not be allowed to serve guests as a footman because of his attitude, to his mother’s great shame, he was free to disappear for a few hours. Had he sabotaged his chances of a higher position within the household so his life would not get harder? Yes, of course he had.

When the sun reached its zenith and the heat of its glare became too much to bear, Louis changed his course and walked up to his favourite spot for a bite of food and a rest in the shade, sitting down against the trunk of a large plane tree near the top of a hill, giving him a good view of his surroundings. He unwrapped the pieces of bread and cheese and took a long sip of water from his gourd, sighing in relief to be off his feet for a moment. He ate slowly, relishing the taste of the sharp cheese, and when he was done, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree, hoping for a nap before he had to go back to work.

He was drifting away when he heard rustling nearby, like footsteps through the tall grass. Louis opened his eyes, squinting against the sun, and watched as a man who looked to be about his age walked past the tree he was resting under at a slow, leisurely pace. Louis frowned at his appearance. Something seemed off about him, though he could not quite put a finger on it, and so he kept watching the man as he got further away, until Louis realised that he was about to walk straight off a steep incline.

“Hey!” he called out, jumping to his feet to reach the man. “You can’t walk there.”

The man stopped and turned to look at Louis, his frown, Louis was sure, mirroring his own. “Why?” he asked politely. Almost too politely, Louis thought, bordering on insolence.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Louis explained once he had caught up with him.

From up close, Louis could tell almost immediately what had seemed odd to him: the man was too clean. His clothes were those of a peasant, to be sure, but his shirt looked newer than anything Louis had ever seen, the white of its cotton almost blinding under the sun. His trousers looked like they had never seen a patch of dirt before, his stockings were somehow whiter than his shirt, and the leather of his shoes shone. No one polished their work shoes and Louis was also sure that no one walked through tall grass in their Sunday ones. Looking up at the man’s face, Louis was surprised by the paleness of his skin, as though he had never been in the sun before.

In short, the man was too  _ pristine _ and Louis’ frowned deepened. “May I help you?” he asked, matching the man’s tone.

“I was just taking a walk on m—through the fields. I didn’t know there were  _ rules _ .”

“There’s only one: don’t fall off the edge of a hill,” Louis said, motioning for the man to get closer and moving the weeds aside to show him where the incline began.

“How was I supposed to know? There isn’t a sign saying  _ Don’t walk here _ , see.”

“It wouldn’t change much, to be fair,” Louis replied, shrugging. When the man looked confused, Louis added: “Most can’t read. You’re not from around here, are you?”

It was a rhetorical question to ask. He spoke in a way Louis had never heard before, sharp and clear, making Louis feel self-conscious of his own. He had not known he had an accent until that moment, and he did not like the discovery.

“I’m not, no,” the man replied, running a hand through his shoulder length brown curls. “I come from a town outside of Paris.”

“Oh, well, welcome to Bourbon-l’Archambault. I’m Louis, by the way,” Louis said, holding out his hand.

The man glanced at his hand and scrunched up his nose for a second before he caught himself and his expression smoothed out once more. He shook Louis’ hand quickly before wiping his own on his trousers.

“A common name,” he said in reply.

“Well, if he’d been called François, I’d be a François, I suppose.”

“He? Who’s he? Your father?”

“ _ Le Roi _ …?”

“Oh! Oh, right, yes. A lot of people named Louis. I was lucky that I was spared that burden, I suppose. I’m Harry.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You take the piss out of my name and you think I’ll ignore that you’re named after the  _ Dauphin _ ?”

Harry shook his head. “A coincidence. I’m… older.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I’m telling you.” Pressing his lips together, Harry turned to leave, but he stopped and turned back to Louis. “You look familiar.”

“I have a common name, remember?” Louis was getting sick of the man and was ready for him to go on his way. His manners reminded him of his torturer of the past days.

Harry shook his head. “Your face, I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen a lot of faces in my life, but yours… yours is strangely familiar. Have you ever been to…” he stalled, cleared his throat, “to Paris?”

“No, never. And I’ve never seen…” Louis trailed off as he took a second to study the man’s face properly, looking beyond the cleanliness that had appalled him at first to really take in his traits.

The brown curls, the bright green eyes, the rounded lips, something inside of Louis awakened at the sight of them and he cocked his head to the side, confused and not quite sure why he was. It could just be attraction, because it was undeniable that the man was attractive, but it felt too simple of an explanation.

“You, too, hm? I’m familiar?” Harry asked, almost eager to have someone relate to his experience. “I came here as a child, during the epidemic, for my safety. I spent half a year here, in 1741.”

Louis felt his blood go cold and he dropped into a deep bow, wondering as he did if he was doing it right. “ _ Votre Altesse _ ,” Louis said. “Please forgive me the disrespect I showed  _ Votre Altesse _ .”

Louis heard the  _ Dauphin _ click his tongue. “Oh, none of that. Get up. How do I know you? And how do you… how did you guess who I am from that statement?” There was an edge of eagerness in the  _ Dauphin _ ’s voice, like he was begging Louis to solve the riddle.

Straightening up, Louis kept his eyes downcast. “I live at the castle. My mother is the cook, I was there when  _ Votre Altesse _ came in ‘41. I wasn’t sure it was a true memory, it was so long ago, but it seems that it was.”

“You were my friend,” the  _ Dauphin _ said, a smile easily heard through his voice. “I remember, now. I think I followed you like I was your shadow, didn’t I?”

“You did, yes.  _ Votre Altesse _ did, hm, sorry, I’m not… good at this.”

“So, please stop, Louis, I’m begging you. Look at me.” Louis dared to look up and met the  _ Dauphin _ ’s curious eyes. “I came here incognito. Why do you think I’m dressed like this?” He laughed. “I told no one I’m here and I was introduced under a false identity, did you already forget?”

Louis felt his cheeks burn and he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t there when  _ Votre Altesse _ arrived. I was… in bed.”

The  _ Dauphin _ laughed. “Oh, well, I was introduced as Henri de Bourbon, duc de Vendôme.”

“Who is that?”

“ _ Exactly _ .” He grinned. “I want a normal life for a while. Well…” he shrugged, “as normal as I’m allowed to have. But, oh,” he continued, his voice rising with excitement, “I am delighted to have found my old childhood friend! My nightmare slayer, remember? Oh, Louis, we have so much to talk about, I thought I had dreamed you up!”

He put his hand on Louis’ crossed arms and Louis gazed down to look at it, unsure of how he was supposed to react.

“So,” Louis began, “ _ Votre Altesse _ —”

“Harry! My friends don’t call me…” he waved his hand dismissively, “ _ that _ .”

“I don’t think I can,” Louis replied, still unable to look at the  _ Dauphin _ .

“Who will know? Look around us, who would tell on you? Birds?”

Louis fought the smile that crept on his lips. “I can try… Harry.”

“Good, thank you. So, I suppose you have places to be, but we will dine together tonight, to catch up. You can’t refuse, I’m the prince.” He winked at Louis before turning on his heels. “Which way might one continue one’s invigorating walk without throwing oneself off a cliff?”

“D-dinner?” was all Louis managed to say.

“Yes, at eight o’clock in my apartments. Well, my room,  _ au singulier _ . It’s the only one in use.”

“What about your guests? We prepared five rooms.”

He waved his hand again. “Decoys, empty carriages. I’m on my own. Which way should I go, then?” he repeated, pointing to his left, first, then to his right, while looking at Louis inquisitively.

“R-right. Go to your right, this way. There’s a brook that’s worth seeing.”

“Brilliant!” Harry began walking away before calling out, over his shoulder, “You better come, standing up the  _ Dauphin _ is considered high treason!”

Louis watched him go and wondered how much it might cost him to catch the next coach out of town towards Spain, or perhaps Greece. Whichever left first and took him as far away from the most terrifying event of his life to date as fast as possible. Men like him did not dine with princes, or call them by their names. As he gathered the remnants of his food and headed back to the castle, he wondered if he had not accidentally fallen down the hill and if he was not dreaming up the whole encounter.

What was he even supposed to wear?

* * *

The old grandfather clock in the library struck eight as Louis walked towards the prince’s room. He had wandered the halls of the castle without a second thought for years, but now that a member of the royal family was in residence, he cringed at the sound of his footsteps on the flagstone floor. He was not sure he was allowed to be there, despite the prince’s invitation, and he worried he might alert the royal valet. He already disliked Louis for his attitude and Louis was not particularly eager to find out how he would react to the sight of Louis knocking on the  _ Dauphin _ ’s door.

“Come in!” Harry called and he smiled when Louis walked in. “Good evening, my friend. I asked for our meal to be brought up before you got here so no one will bother us for the rest of the evening. I hope you’re hungry, they always feed me like I’m five people,” he explained, waving his hand towards the spread of food laid out in front of him. “Do they really think I need a whole chicken to myself?”

“You did say you were five people.” Louis shrugged. “And I think it’s supposed to show how wealthy you are.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Isn’t everything? Come take a seat.”

Louis obeyed, sitting opposite the prince and then waiting, unsure of the protocol when it came to eating in the presence of royalty. He supposed he had to wait for Harry to begin eating first so he would have the first choice of everything, but was Louis expected to serve him? He watched to see what Harry would do next and let out a sigh of relief when he began piling food on his plate.

“Go on, get anything you want.” Harry smiled. “You’re not here as my valet, but as my friend, and my friends eat as much as they wish.” He poured wine from a delicate crystal decanter into their glasses, the rich burgundy of it turning the crystal cups into gemstones. “And they drink as much as they wish.”

“Thank you,” Louis replied, resisting his instinct to add ‘ _ Votre Altesse _ ’ at the end. “It smells delicious, but it’s no surprise.”

“Why?”

Louis shrugged. “My mother is a good cook.”

“Oh! That’s right, I remember! She used to sit us at the table in the kitchen downstairs and fill our bellies with freshly baked pastries and hot chocolate! Pastries like this one!” he pointed to a  _ chocolatine _ with excitement. “She remembered they were my favourite!”

“Well…” Louis began, hesitantly. “She doesn’t know that you’re  _ you _ . You told her you were some unknown  _ duc _ .  _ Chocolatines _ are her specialty, that’s probably why she made them.”

Harry nodded. “You’re right, I forgot about my secret identity. I would make a terrible spy.” He laughed and began eating, which Louis took as his cue that he could do the same. “So, Louis, tell me, how have you been since I was here last?”

“You mean… the last fifteen years?”

Harry laughed, loud and unexpectedly unbridled for someone of his rank. “All right, that was a stupid question. Let me start over.” He drank from his glass of wine and gave Louis a pointed look until he did the same. “What about… you tell me who you are, as though we’ve never met before?”

“You won’t find it very interesting.” Louis picked at the food on his plate, his nerves ruining his appetite. He drank more wine, hoping for help to be calmer.

“Let me decide that. I like all types of people, especially the ones who live lives so foreign to me. I have no idea what it is like to be a… a…” he paused and frowned, “I’m not sure what you are, exactly.”

“A valet, a gardener, a farmer… I do what has to be done to keep the castle standing…” Louis trailed off. Harry nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I, huh, I just do the work, I don’t really think about it. It’s not easy, though, it gets pretty frustrating.”

“Why? It sounds incredibly gratifying to work with one’s hands, to see the fruits of one’s labour.”

“Because I’m only delaying the inevitable.”

“Which is?”

“The collapse of this place. It needs more than what the others and me can give it, but until you came I was sure the Crown had forgotten about it.” Louis stopped abruptly when he realised that venom had seeped into his words. He downed a large sip of wine so he would not accidentally say more and anger the  _ Dauphin _ .

“To be fair, we have.” Harry shrugged. “Bourbon-L’Archambault is  _ passé de mode _ . Ever since  _ la _ Montespan died here, the court has moved away from gloomy old medieval ruins.”

Louis nodded as though he understood what Harry meant. “I don’t know where we’ll all go once the castle falls down.”

“It won’t,” Harry said with confidence. “I won’t let it, now that I’ve been here and met the people. Don’t worry about it any longer.”

“If you say so,” Louis replied with skepticism. He doubted the prince would remember Bourbon-L’Archambault more than a week after his return to Versailles. “But, huh, that’s all that there is to know about me. I told you, it’s not very interesting.”

“I disagree!” Harry said. He finished his glass of wine and waved his hand in the air before he continued. “From my perspective, you live a life of… of freedom like nothing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Freedom?” Louis frowned. “I am not free. I cannot stop what I’m doing and… and go on holiday in the countryside. If I stop my work, everything around here falls apart. And even if other people stepped in for me, I would not have the means to travel. We have no money. There is no true freedom without money.”

“There is no freedom with it, either. I am not free, Louis, if this is what you think. My life does not belong to me, it belongs to the people of France. You know what people call me?  _ Fils de France _ . I had to come here under a false identity so I could have some tranquility.”

Louis wanted to reply, to say that it was not as bad as Harry was describing to be, that it could  _ not _ be as bad because he was rich and powerful, but he chose to stay silent. He did not want the evening to go sour because of an ill-advised political debate. He also knew he could not rival with Harry’s knowledge of the court, he who had not read more than a handful of books throughout his life. Even if Harry was wrong – which Louis was sure he was – Louis would never have the vocabulary or ease of discourse to win a debate against the heir apparent. Instead, he drank his wine and nodded.

“I see.”

Once again, Harry waved his hand, this time looking annoyed. “So, you see why I would envy your life.”

“What are you doing with your hand?” Louis asked, mimicking the motion.

“I’m…” Harry’s eyes widened and his cheeks coloured. He placed a hand over his eyes briefly. “I was asking for more wine. Old habits…”

Louis could not stop it: he burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “You would not survive a single day in my life. Here, let me do it,  _ Votre Altesse _ .” He filled both of their glasses, still laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” Harry protested, laughing along. “Things are usually handed to me, I’m not allowed to reach for them!”

“You say that as though it will make it better! Do people also dress you in the morning?” Louis teased.

The flush on Harry’s cheeks turned bright red. “It’s a privilege for high ranking members of the court…” he said through his laughter.

“Oh no!” Louis laughed harder, wiping his eyes. “Do you not know how to dress yourself?”

“Of course, I know how to dress myself! I’m not a child! I told you that my life makes no sense!”

Louis poured from a jug of water and took a long sip, trying to subdue his laughter. “You would not last a day of my life,” he repeated, wanting to drive the point home. This was the only thing he could hold over the prince.

“I could. I’m more resourceful than I look. I’ve read a lot about the rural lifestyle.”

Another fit of laughter took over Louis. “The rural lifestyle! Is this what you were wearing earlier? Rural fashion?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry protested through his own giggles. “It’s the best I could find!” He sighed audibly and shook his head. “I want to try.”

“Try what?”

“Your life.”

Louis let his laughter subside and he shook his head. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“I want to understand the lives of my people,” Harry replied. Louis was about to laugh once more, but he looked completely serious.

“Assuming you do try,” he said cautiously. “You will hate it. You will ache in ways you never knew you could ache. You’ll be exhausted down to your bones, your hands and feet will bleed and become calloused. And I’m only talking about the first day.”

“Still, I want to try. I’ve never  _ lived _ . It’s why I came here, to get a new perspective on life.”

Louis pulled a piece of meat from the chicken, chewing on it distractedly as he pondered on Harry’s words. It could be entertaining to agree. It would bring a change of pace to his repetitive life and if the prince turned out to be capable, it would be good to have help as summer settled in and the garden would require more work. The wine had loosened Louis up, easing his nerves in the presence of a prince, and he felt bold.

“All right, if you so desperately want to be in pain, we’ll meet in the kitchen tomorrow morning at sunrise.”

A bright smile bloomed on Harry’s face. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

Harry was sitting by the dying embers of the fireplace when Louis entered the kitchen the next morning.

“Good morning,” Louis said through a yawn. “We should have gone to bed earlier.”

Harry nodded, covering his mouth to yawn, too. “It felt more like a  _ sieste _ .”

“Did you eat anything?”

“I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if I could.”

Louis rolled his eyes and began rummaging around, preparing a quick breakfast for them. “All of this food belongs to you, you know. You can eat whatever you want.” Louis paused to glance at Harry. “Unless you don’t know how…”

“I… I would have questions.”

Louis chuckled. “Remind me to tease you about it later, I’m too tired, now.” He handed Harry his plate. “Be quick, we have a lot of work to do.”

“I can’t wait to begin,” Harry said, smiling up at Louis before taking a bite of his food.

“Your enthusiasm is baffling to me, but I hope you keep it throughout the day,” Louis replied, unaware that he had jinxed the entire plan with his careless words.

“I’m sure I will.”

Harry did not, in fact, keep his enthusiasm. The first task they tackled was to weed the vegetable garden and it did not take long for Harry to begin complaining that he could not get comfortable down on his knees in the dirt, that his hands hurt pulling out the weeds, and that he hated insects and could not work in areas where he had found them, making him move through the garden erratically. Louis had to redo everything he had done, and a task that should have taken them an hour to complete took three times as long.

After such an ordeal, Louis offered Harry to stop, but he insisted that he wanted to keep going. The rest of the day did not go by better and when Louis finally decided that he would not get anything more out of Harry, the prince groaned in relief and sank down on his back in the grass.

“I think I’m dead,” he declared, staring up at the sky. “I have never been in so much pain.”

Louis sat down by his side and shrugged. “Today was easy. I kept it easy.”

“Liar,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Today was hard, I’m exhausted. I’ve never been this exhausted before. I don’t think I can get back up, let alone make it upstairs to my room. Oh, but I would love a long, warm bath, it’s a shame that I shall perish here, in the grass, so far away from a bathtub.”

With a laugh, Louis rolled his eyes. “That was needlessly dramatic.”

“Every word I said was sincere,” Harry continued in the same tone of voice. Louis glanced at him and saw that he was fighting back a smile. “This was torture, pure and simple.”

“Welcome to the life of your people.” Louis could not keep a hint of fondness out of his voice. As soon as he heard the way his voice came out, he held back a groan. He did not want to develop any sort of feelings for the prince. He had to stay neutral towards him. He had to be careful.

“I hate it.”

“Well, you’re lucky that you don’t have to do it again tomorrow.” The fondness was gone from his voice as quickly as it had come. It was one thing to joke about how difficult his life was, but it was another for Harry to turn it into an attempt to be pitied.

“Oh, no, you misunderstood me. I will be back tomorrow.”

“Why? You hated it so much.”

“Because for everyone else, quitting is not an option. It shouldn’t be one for me, either.”

Louis was silent for a moment, trying to find a suitable reply, one that would not be accidentally rude and earn him more trouble than this was worth. “All right, then. Tomorrow we have to go and lend a hand to plant fields for the summer.”

“Help villagers? That sounds delightful,” Harry replied in a monotone. “I actually meant those words, but my enthusiasm is too tired to be heard.” He let out a small laugh. “Can you help me get up?”

Louis got up and offered a hand to the prince, pulling him up. He looked up into his face and their eyes met for a second. Louis looked away quickly, resenting the surge of emotions it arose in him.

“Same time in the kitchen tomorrow, then. I can tell your footmen to get a bath ready while you make your way upstairs.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and nodded, eyeing Louis in silence for a moment. “And you aren’t in pain at all, after today?” He sounded amazed.

“No, I told you, today was  _ easy _ .”

“That is quite amazing, you should be proud.”

Louis shrugged. “Farmers are hardier than me. You’ll see tomorrow.”

“If I survive the night in so much pain!” Harry exclaimed with a wink to Louis. “Good idea about the bath, I’ll crawl my way upstairs while they get it ready, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Louis watched as Harry made his slow, painful way back towards the front of the castle to use the main entrance. He sighed and turned towards the servants’ door, already worried about the outcome of the next day. He had not expected Harry to join him beyond the first day and he was not sure that it would not turn into a disaster to have him mingle with the villagers. He doubted any of them would recognise the prince, but they would absolutely hate him the second he opened his mouth and said something callous without an ounce of awareness of what he had said. Louis anticipated that he would spend most of the day trying to avoid conflicts instead of sowing the fields, and he was not eager for it.

* * *

His worries about the next day kept Louis awake part of the night and they came to life as the day unfolded. Harry’s presence when they got to the fields was noticed and caused some uproar. His complaints about his soreness from the day before only made things worse and they had not been at work for more than two hours when Louis thought it wise to move them as far away from the other men as possible. He worried the tension would get bad enough that Harry would decide to reveal his true identity, thinking it might make the situation better. Louis did not have the vocabulary to explain just how terrible that idea would be, although perhaps it was simpler than he thought: Harry might die. His optimistic, fairy tale view of life did not have room in it to allow for the reality of what peasants thought about the royal family. Louis did not want to be the one to teach it to him.

“Can we take a break, soon?” Harry complained for the fifth time. “My back hurts.”

“Mine too, and no. We’re already too slow for the others’ rhythm. We have to keep up.”

“Or else they’ll kill us?” Harry replied sharply.

“Look,” Louis said, using the same tone. “You wanted this. You have the freedom to leave and go back to the castle, if you wish. No one’s forcing you to stay here, especially not me.”

With a loud sigh, Harry picked up the pace. “No, I’m staying. I’m not weak.”

“No one said you were,” Louis replied, understanding too late that Harry was probably thinking out loud.

Harry’s complaining ceased after that and, while they did not keep up with the rest of the workers, they had made considerable progress by the time to bell rang for a lunch break. Louis hesitated to join the group, but knew it would be misconstrued if he did not, so he motioned for Harry to follow him and found them a spot to sit in the shade of a tree. He handed Harry his share of the food he had packed and began eating.

“I’ve never been this hungry before,” Harry commented as he took an eager bite of bread.

“Easy life, eh,” a worker replied sardonically and laughed, joined by the others.

“Very easy. Too easy. That’s why I’m here today.”

Louis tensed, worried that Harry might reveal his identity by being too earnest. “My cousin is from the city,” he heard himself say. “He’s in service.”

“I… am,” Harry continued, glancing at Louis. “I’ve never done proper physical labour before, but I came here to learn.”

That prompted the men to start complaining about the reported softness of city dwellers and allowed Louis to let out a breath of relief. He elbowed Harry, making him laugh.

“You have to be more careful,” he whispered to him. “They would  _ not _ like it if they found out who you are.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t they like to know their sovereign wants to understand their lives?”

Louis stared at Harry, baffled that he could be so naïve. “No, they would not.”

Harry pressed his lips together, frowning. “Oh, that is… not what I expected. I’ll be more careful.”

The conversation around them moved to politics as the break stretched on and Louis tuned it out. He hated talking about politics, he had no interest in affairs of the state and it truly, profoundly bored him. Normally, he would have dragged Harry away and gone for a walk, but Harry perked up at the first mention of the state and joined the talks, coming to life in a way Louis had not seen before. Until that moment, the workers had looked down on him with condescension, taking him for a spoiled city brat with no wits about him, but Louis saw their opinion change as they debated Harry.

For the first time since his arrival, Louis saw him for the prince that he was: Harry was articulate, debating patiently and explaining his points of view in a clear, poised manner. He never lost his temper, keeping the conversation civil and calm, and although it was a lost cause to hope and turn overworked farmers into devout royalists, he made a few of them nod in agreement with him on the subject of taxation, of all things.

Louis marvelled at the sight, his heart skipping a beat when he realised what was happening to him: he found Harry attractive; not only physically like on the first day, but his personality, too. With a start, he looked away from the prince and stared at the crumbs of bread he was wiping away from his trousers; he did not dare look at Harry again for fear of how it might make him feel.

It was absolutely out of the question that he might find the prince attractive. Only humiliation and heartbreak lay ahead, if he chose to follow that path. He could not— _ would  _ not let it happen.

* * *

The milder days of June led into a sweltering month of July and it became nearly impossible to do any sort of work in the afternoon. Louis sought out the slightly cooler shade that the thick stone walls of the castle provided, though it was hardly any less suffocating inside than it was outside. The sun beat down mercilessly on the ground, desiccating it, turning the grass yellow and dry, the dirt hard as rock.

To Louis’ horror, the weather got even hotter as July dragged on and, one day, he snapped. He could no longer take it, it was inhumane to force himself to work under the beating sun, and in an angry huff, he let his trowel fall to the ground with a groan.

“Enough. I’ve had enough of this godforsaken heat!” he let out angrily, pushing his sweat-soaked hat up to run a hand through his damp hair. “This is unholy!”

From where he was, on all fours on the hard ground, trying to dig a hole, Harry sat back on his heels and looked up at Louis. “I thought it was just me.”

Harry’s white shirt clung to his skin and rivulets of sweat ran down his face. He wiped at his forehead with his arm, leaving a smudge of dirt on it. The wide brim of his straw hat cast speckled shadows on his face, giving the illusion that he was covered in freckles. Louis swiftly looked away.

“Of course, it’s not just you! I’m not immune to the heat. Now, come on. We’re done working for today.”

Louis stomped out of the field, leaving his tools on the ground.

“Aren’t you picking anything up?” Harry asked, briskly following him.

“No, I can’t be arsed. They’ll be fine until tomorrow. Try to keep up!”

“Where are we going?”

“The river.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?!” Louis snapped, his irritation caused by the weather bleeding into every part of his mind.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything to deserve that,” Harry replied. His voice had taken on a sharp edge that Louis had only ever heard him use on his valet when he was being overbearing.

“Sorry,” Louis replied, sighing heavily. “I just can’t handle this heat, I haven’t had a proper night of sleep in weeks, I can’t—it’s not against you. We’re going swimming. Well, I am. You do what you want.”

Harry did not reply and Louis kept quiet, fearful that he would once again be unintentionally rude to Harry. The grass crunched under their steps and there was a soft, warm breeze rustling the tree leaves around them, slowly soothing his mood. Cicadas sang all around them, the sound enveloping and sounding almost as though it came from inside his own head.

They reached the river and Louis turned to walk alongside its bank, heading towards a forested area where they would have privacy. Once he was satisfied that they would be alone, safe under the cool green canopy of trees, Louis inhaled sharply to draw up his courage and began taking his clothes off, stopping at his drawers. He did not dare get naked, though he longed to.

Without checking if Harry was following, Louis walked into the water, closing his eyes at the immediate relief it brought him. He heard splashes to his left and knew Harry had entered the water as well.

“Oh, this is what I needed,” he heard Harry exclaim.

Louis turned to look at him in time to see him dive under the water, resurfacing a moment later and pushing his wet hair out of his face. He grinned at Louis, radiating contentment. It was still surprising to Louis how much his mood had changed over the weeks, from acting like a martyr to showing real enthusiasm for the work to be done as his strength and skills increased. His time in the sun had turned his milky pale skin red, first – and renewed Harry’s litany of complaints for the time it took the burn to fade – to a rich golden shade. Covered as it was with drops of water, it glistened in the dappled rays of sunshine coming through the trees.

Louis could swear Harry had become broader in the shoulders, too, and that his arms were more defined, though it almost made no sense that it happened so quickly. He hated that he noticed and tried his best to think as little about it as possible.

Besides, Louis was  _ not _ looking at him that way, though he was progressively forgetting why he had decided to close that door before he even had a peek inside. Harry was a handsome man and he, quite surprisingly, seemed to enjoy Louis’ company despite his abrasiveness.

Louis turned his gaze away and dove under water for a second, sputtering as he came back out, and pushed his hair out of his face.

“Is it your first time swimming in a river?” he asked to fill the silence that had, on his end at least, grown uncomfortable.

“Oh, no. I don’t do it very often, but I have done it before.” Harry smiled. “I’m not quite as sheltered as you imagine me to be.”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know much about what it’s like to be a prince.”

“You could come to court and see for yourself.”

That made Louis laugh. “Right, of course. That would work. Is Versailles in need of a new  _ jardinier _ , perhaps?”

Harry laughed, too. “I was joking, obviously.” And with that, he dove under water and swam a distance away, surfacing only to float on his back, arms spread out, eyes closed.

Louis was relieved to see he was wearing his drawers. He had feared he might have stripped naked and Louis was not sure he could have survived that situation without committing a very grave mistake, or drowning. Either outcomes were possible when it came to the effect Harry had on him.

More and more, Louis worried about the kind of feelings he was beginning to develop for the  _ Dauphin _ . He did not want to feel more than companionship, it was the only safe option. Anything other was doomed to cause nothing but harm. Despite his best efforts to keep him at an arm’s length, though, Louis could sense that defeat was nearby. He often caught himself missing the man when they were not together, wondering what he was doing and if he, too, thought about Louis. Already, he could hardly remember what it was like to do his work alone, without the company of a barely capable prince. Harry had weaved himself into Louis’ life, and Louis did not dare think how it would be when he would leave.

Even in that moment, his eyes were drawn to Harry, gazing at his nearly naked body floating peacefully. It felt almost perverse to look at him that way, unbeknownst to him, though sometimes Louis wondered if Harry might not also be feeling something deeper for him. He followed Louis around like his shadow, always vying for his attention and praise, beaming with pride whenever Louis complimented him on his work. Louis was not above thinking he might be of interest to a prince, as conceited as it may sound. Even if Harry’s interest would not go beyond one night together, Louis did not think he would deny him. If anything, it might help release some of the irritation that made him snap even when it was undeserved.

“You seem pensive,” Harry said, cutting through Louis’ ruminations.

“You, too. You’re surprisingly quiet, not that I’m complaining,” Louis said, biting back a groan. Once more, he replied with insensitivity for no reason.

“I’m thinking that it’ll break my heart to leave this place…” Harry paused. “And its people.”

“You’re not leaving for a while, are you?” Louis’ heart was sinking, he did not want to talk about Harry’s departure.

Harry straightened up in the water, moving closer to Louis, shaking his head. “No, not for a while. You’re stuck with me for a few more weeks.”

Louis let him approach without backing up, his heartbeat becoming quicker as wild thoughts crossed his mind. He swallowed, half expecting Harry to close the distance between them to kiss him, and it took all of his will to resist closing his eyes in anticipation.

Without warning, Harry splashed Louis, bursting out in loud, boisterous giggles. Louis gasped and retaliated, splashing him several times in a row, ashamed that he had hoped for a kiss and disappointed that he did not get one.

“You arsehole!” he shouted, his shame coming out as anger towards Harry. “That wasn’t funny!”

It only seemed to amuse Harry even more. “It was, and you know it. Unwind a little, learn to have fun!”

“I know how to have fun!” Louis wanted to stop, he wanted to back away from this absurd fit of anger, but he could not see a way out that did not also affect his pride.

Trapped, he walked out of the river, quickly grabbing his clothes to hide his body from Harry’s eyes, aware that his drawers had turned mostly see-through from the water.

“Aw, come on, I’m sorry, Louis! Come back, I won’t do it again!” Harry called after him, but Louis ignored him in favour of putting on his clothes. He grimaced as they clung to his wet skin. “Let me make it up to you, join me for dinner tonight.”

Harry’s voice had sounded closer and Louis startled when he realised he had joined him on the river bank. He turned and glanced at him, his eyes bouncing away as soon as they fell on the bare skin of his chest.

“It’s fine.”

“Please, I insist.”

“Harry…”

“It’s an order from your prince.”

Louis needed to get away, his mind was in turmoil, he could not be trusted next to Harry, he was on the verge of doing something extremely stupid, so he began walking away, his shoes in his hands. The forest ground hurt his feet, but he ignored it.

“I’m sorry, but no. I’ll see you tomorrow for work,” he said over his shoulder, never looking back.

* * *

The heat did not relent throughout the day, though it became easier to endure as the sun dipped down in the sky and evening settled in. The kitchen was unbearably hot with the ovens going all day and the staff had taken the habit of moving the table outside and having dinner there, where they could at least catch a breeze. In the shade of the castle, with the sunset behind them, it was a much-needed respite before the next day.

Louis put down his fork and leaned back in his chair to stretch. He felt sleepy and mellow, more than ready to go to bed. Not just then, maybe later. It was a beautiful summer evening, with the sky painted in bright shades of orange and red, promising that the next day would be just as scorching as this one had been. Lively conversations surrounded him yet he was content only listening, catching bits and pieces of them lazily, letting them slip away.

He heard him before he saw him, the sound of footsteps approaching, crunching on the dry grass. Harry stopped by the table, wearing a set of fresh clothes, visibly aware that he was intruding and uncomfortable about it. As people noticed his presence they stopped talking, until a hushed silence fell around the table.

“ _ Votre Grâce _ ,” Louis said when no one dared speak up. He was glad he remembered at the last second that not only was he not supposed to call Harry by his first name, but he was also there under a false identity.  _ Votre Altesse _ would have been a mistake as big as calling him Harry. “How may we be of service?”

“I was looking for you, actually, Louis. May I invite you to accompany me on my evening walk?”

Louis’ heart tightened with worry and hope, and he nodded. “Sure.”

Downing his glass of water, Louis got up and followed Harry, ignoring the whispers that escorted them away. He waited until they were out of sight before turning to Harry.

“Didn’t you get enough of me today?” he sighed, swallowing thickly. “I was going to apologise tomorrow, but now that you’re here… I’m sorry for being rude earlier.”

Harry walked with a straight back, his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of composure. “Yes, about that. I wanted to talk to you about that. I think it would be best if I stopped working with you.”

Though Louis expected it, it stung. “Why?”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you despise my company.”

“I don’t,” Louis rushed to say, shaking his head. “I just… I get nervous around you.”

“Still? Haven’t I… I’ve explained that I’m not here as a prince, but as  _ Harry _ .”

“I can’t just… extinguish it. It’s not a flame, that I can just put out. It’s always there, on the back of my mind, who you are. The power you wield.”

“So… I stop working with you. It isn’t working. It’s all right to admit it, Louis. We tried and it’s… making us both miserable.”

“I thought you were enjoying the work?”

“I am, but I am not enjoying your attitude. I’ve run out of way to try and soften you.”

Louis looked at his feet, ashamed that it was coming to this. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been shit to you. It’s nothing that you do, it’s… all on me. I don’t know how to be myself around you. I get… defensive. Could you give me one last chance?”

“I could, but… the way you reacted in the river when I tried to be playful... I understand being guarded, but that was an aggressive reaction to something harmless.”

“It wasn’t…” Louis trailed off. He did not know how to finish that sentence without admitting to Harry that he feared he had feelings for him; feelings deeper than friendship. “I’m sorry. The heat had put me in a bad mood.”

“All I want is companionship while I’m here. If you don’t want to be my friend, I won’t force it. We can part ways without hard feelings between us. Some people will just never get along, it can’t be helped.”

Louis shook his head, his stomach sinking. The only thing worse than Harry trying to be his friend was Harry staying away from him. “No. I will be kinder to you. It’s a promise. You’re not so bad to be around…” Louis tried to make his voice playful. He observed Harry carefully to see how it would be received.

“I’ve been told I’m very good company,” Harry replied in a huff, a half-smile on his lips.

“People would say that, though, hm? They can’t say anything else.”

“Oh, no, they can. You should hear what they say about my father. Not to his face, but to mine and everyone else’s. Maybe someday I’ll take you to Versailles and you’ll see it for yourself.”

“Maybe,” Louis replied, playing along. “Although I doubt they would talk openly to a member of the palace staff.”

“Oh, no. You would be my guest, I wouldn’t invite you to work for me. If we were friends, you could be a guest of the  _ palais royal _ .”

Louis laughed at the idea, shaking his head. “Very funny, that. Me, a guest of the palace. You  _ are _ good company, that is true. Good sense of humour.”

Harry pursed his lips. “At least you’re not laughing at the idea of being friends with me. I’ll take this victory.”

Louis looked up at him and their eyes met, sending his heart into a frenzy. He looked away.

“Let’s head back. I’m exhausted.” Louis paused, feeling like they had not yet reached a conclusion. “I will do better. I promise. I’m sorry I made you feel like I hated your company. It’s the wrong impression. I enjoy our time together… sometimes I wonder how I ever spent my days alone. I will do better.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, a smile illuminating his face.

The sight sent a dagger through Louis’ heart, nearly making his knees buckle. He was mortified to realise that he might be falling in love with Harry.

* * *

“Hey,” Harry said one late afternoon as they were getting walking back to the castle. “I have an idea.”

It had been nearly a month since their talk and Louis had made conscious efforts to be kinder to Harry. It was a daily battle to resist the urge to keep him at an arm’s distance, to forbid him from getting closer so that Louis did not develop stronger feelings for him. Harry was a charmer, which made the task impossibly hard. Louis did not think he was doing anything purposefully – it would be a sick game to try and make Louis fall in love with him – yet he had a talent for turning innocent conversations into flirtatious ones. In those moments, it was obvious to Louis that he was a descendant of  _ le Roi Soleil _ : he shone bright and it felt like a privilege to bask in his glow. As time went on, Louis realised that he might be brave enough to let the prince in, even if only for a night. He was not usually one to deny himself small pleasures, though he had given ascetism a try around Harry.

It had not rained in days, though the heat wave had subsided, and the road was dry, their footsteps kicking up dust that stuck to their sweat-slicked skins. Louis ached for a bath.

“I’m listening,” Louis replied, hitching his bag higher up on his shoulder.

“We haven’t had dinner together in a long time, you should join me tonight.”

“Aren’t you sick of me after a whole day together?” Louis teased, though his heart sped up at the thought of spending the evening with him. “I have been waiting for an invitation,  _ Votre Altesse _ .”

“Well, I’m inviting you, now. Tomorrow’s Sunday, we don’t have to work, we can relax and unwind all evening,” Harry continued, his tone coaxing. “I’m going back to Versailles, soon, we don’t have much time left.”

“You are?” Louis stopped walking, surprised. From beating too fast, his heart sank, making him feel dizzy. “You never said.”

“Well, I said I was coming for the summer and we’re almost in September, so… you knew. I would stay longer, but my father requested that I come back.” He sighed. “Quite regrettably, he is not a man one says no to.”

Louis said nothing, his brows furrowed as he picked up his pace once more. He would have to act quickly if he wanted to explore his feelings for the prince, quicker than he anticipated. He had liked pretending things would unfold naturally, but they did not have the luxury of months to dance around each other until they cracked. It would have to be all or nothing.

“I’ll come,” he replied after a moment. “But I need a bath first.”

Harry nodded. “I need one, too, you could just use mine.”

Louis swallowed thickly, glancing at Harry to try and gauge what he had meant by that. Maybe he was not alone in his situation.

“Thank you, but… I’ll use my own.”

“Very well. Come when you’re ready.”

With that, Harry jogged up the stairs to the main entrance, leaving Louis to circle the castle back to the servants’ door, like they had done so many times before. The difference, this time, was that Louis had to decide whether he would be brave and stupid, or cautious and bury his feelings for good.

-

Louis hurried through his routine to clean up and put on his Sunday clothes, wanting, for the first time, to look good for the prince. He wanted the prince to find him attractive, still hoping things would progress without him having to act first. He made his way up from the servants’ quarters using the service staircases, unwilling to be seen by the royal watch dog. He had been caught accompanying Harry back to his room after a day of work a few times and he was in no mood to repeat the experience once more.

He knocked on the service door to Harry’s room. “It’s me,” he said. “Louis.”

“Come in,” came Harry’s voice and Louis pushed the door opened, stepping into the room.

He immediately lowered his gaze. Harry was soaking in his bathtub, right in the middle of the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll come back when you’re done,” Louis rushed to say, turning to leave.

“No, no, I’m almost done, don’t worry.  _ Je ne suis pas prude _ . Go and get comfortable, pour yourself some wine, relax.” Harry laughed. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if it bothered me.”

Louis risked a glance at Harry as he crossed the room, licking his lips without noticing. He had seen Harry shirtless numerous times as they worked in the beating sun, had seen his glistening, increasingly golden skin tantalizingly close to him when they swam in the river, but he had never let it get to him. He had always chosen to see Harry as a fellow worker, had never let any sensuality slip into the situation.

This time, though, he could barely stand to look at Harry, though he was sunk to his shoulders in the water. Soon, he would have to step out and Louis would have to decide whether he looked away or not, and the message it would send. He poured himself a glass of wine with shaking hands and sat in an armchair near the tub.

“Back home,” Harry began, “I can spend hours just soaking in a bathtub. It’s so peaceful, isn’t it? To feel oneself floating, weightless… I’ll even entertain guests from there, sometimes. Well,” he laughed, “only my closest friends.”

“I’ve only really seen baths as utilitarian,” Louis replied, shrugging, his eyes dancing around the room to avoid looking at Harry for too long at a time. “I suppose I don’t have time to waste being idle.”

“Do you ever do anything for fun?” Harry asked. “I’m genuinely curious to know. In all the weeks we’ve been together, you only seem to talk about obligations and chores. I kept waiting for leisure to come up, but it never did. Even swimming in the river was only to cool off, we both know how well it went when I tried to make it fun.” He gave Louis a pointed look.

“Not… really,” Louis said, shrugging once more. “Sometimes I’ll go to the village inn, have a pint with friends.”

“Oh, so you do have friends!” Harry shifted in the tub to rest his crossed arms on the lip of it, his chin on his arms, looking at Louis with a smile. “I’ve never heard you talk about them.”

“I, huh…” Louis rubbed the back of his neck. “I kept you away from them, I wasn’t sure how they would react to you.”

“Because I’m a prince, yes,” Harry replied, nodding his head solemnly.

“No, because you’re handsome.” Louis held Harry’s gaze for a second before he looked away, intimidated by his confession.

“Ah!” Harry shouted, his expression going from confused to delighted before Louis’ eyes. He moved in the tub, making the water slosh dangerously close to the edge. “I knew it! I had a suspicion that you were, but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t know how to ask!”

“W-what are you talking about?” Louis stuttered, leaning back into the armchair, trying to move away from Harry and his inquisitive eyes.

“You prefer the company of men.”

“I have nothing against women…” Louis began, defensively, only to be cut off by Harry.

“In your bed, I meant.”

Louis felt his cheeks burn and he opened his mouth to speak a few times, abandoning when he couldn’t find the words. He was not ashamed of what he was, but it was a different story to admit it to a prince.

“Like me,” Harry continued, softer, his bravado gone. “I hoped you were.”

“You…” Louis trailed off.

“Haven’t you heard the rumours?” Harry shrugged. “I must say, I was testing you by staying in the bath…” With a smirk, he continued, “I wanted to see if my instinct was right.”

“W-what… what instinct?” Louis drank deeply from his glass of wine, parched from how nervous he was. The evening was going in the direction he had hoped, but not in the way he had anticipated to get there.

“That you want me…” Harry said, his voice soft and low. “Like I want you.”

Louis gulped. “Is that… so?”

Harry nodded and stood up without a warning. Louis looked away, but not quickly enough to miss the sight of Harry’s naked body on display for him, shimmering with water droplets.

“You’re blushing,” Harry said, chuckling. Louis heard him climb out of the tub and walk through the room. “I’m dressed, you can look.”

He had put on a bathrobe of delicate light blue silk, tied loosely at his waist. Slowly, almost languidly, he made his way to the armchair next to Louis’ and sank into it.

“So,” Harry asked. “How long have you wanted me for?” He crossed his legs, baring his thighs in the process. When Louis stuttered without answering, he smiled. “It’s all right, I’m delighted that you do. I’ll give you my own answer afterwards, so please be honest.”

“I’m… I’m not sure,” Louis finally said, his heart hammering in his chest. “I did not let myself acknowledge it.”

“Why not?”

“You’re the  _ Dauphin _ and I’m working for you.”

“The whole point of my visit here was to  _ not _ be the  _ Dauphin _ . I thought I had made it clear. If I were any other man, would you have tried to seduce me?”

Louis licked his lip and shrugged, choosing to be brave rather than evasive. Their time was coming to an end, he did not have time to be coy, not anymore. “Yes.”

Harry sighed. “We wasted weeks of fun. I hoped you would show interest in me almost from the first time I saw you. I endured weeks of physical pain to spend time with you.”

“Hey, don’t lie, now. We both know you were trying to prove something.”

“To myself, yes, but to you, too. A strong, capable, beautiful man taking me under his wing, oh, be still my beating heart,” Harry said, sincerity weaved into his words.

“Why tonight?” Louis asked, grabbing onto the first question that made sense in the mess of his thoughts.

“I’m leaving at the end of the week. I told you, my father has requested my return. I received the letter this morning. Our time was running out.” He reached out and took Louis’ hand in his. “Do you know what was the first thing I thought when I read his letter?”

“That you were eager to go back to the comforts of Versailles?”

Harry shook his head. “That you should come with me.” When Louis laughed and rolled his eyes, Harry tightened his grip on his hand. “Hear me out. I’ve invited you many times before, but you never listened, so now you will. You helped me pretend to be a peasant to have some fun this summer. I could pay it back and help you pretend that you’re a member of the court.”

Louis’ laughter died out. It had to be the stupidest idea he had ever heard. “This has to be the stupidest idea I have ever heard.”

“I thought about it all day. It could work, if we say that you’re from some faraway  _ duché _ that no one has ever heard of. I have a week to train to for the court, it should be enough, and we would not have to say goodbye.”

“Harry,” Louis began, shaking his head in disbelief. “Convincing cattle and farmers that you’re some useless city footman is one thing, but convincing  _ la cour de France _ that I’m a  _ duc  _ is another! Cows were not going to ask for your head if you had been unmasked, but I doubt your father would be so understanding.”

“While I appreciate the comparison between my father and a cow,” Harry said with an amused smile, “I think you’re underestimating yourself and overestimating life at court. Tell me, are you able to have lengthy conversations about asinine subjects?”

Louis did not know what the word ‘asinine’ meant, but he nodded.

“Are you able to eat copious amounts of food and drink wine constantly? Play cards? Walk aimlessly around for hours?” With each nod of Louis’ head, Harry’s smile widened. “You’ll do wonderfully well at court.”

“They need me, here.”

“No, what they need is a proper team of workers to fix the castle, which I will provide once we’re gone.”

“You’ll get bored of me,” Louis protested, racking his brains for excuses to turn down the invitation without admitting the truth: that he was scared.

“Of everyone else at court? Yes. Of you? Never.”

“Why not?”

Harry got up, never letting go of Louis’ hand, and sat on the arm of his chair. The proximity of his warm, almost naked body, and the heady smell of his rose-scented soap wiped away every thought that had formed in Louis’ brain. He looked up at him and gulped, feeling the last of his resolve disappearing.

“Because you’re the most interesting person I ever met. Because I’ve never gotten along so well with someone before you. Because you’re different from everyone at court, because you’re real, because you’re gorgeous, because you’ve somehow captured my heart… should I go on?” Harry stroked Louis’ cheek with his hand, his thumb rubbing a few times over his cheekbone. “Please say yes… I fear we might never see each other again if you don’t come with me.”

His last words echoed Louis’ deepest fear and he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts for a moment. Before he could open them again, he felt Harry’s lips press to his, soft but insistent, and with a gasp, Louis kissed him back. He clung to the panels of his bathrobe as he stretched his neck to deepen the kiss, slipping a hand against the warm skin of Harry’s chest, eager to get him out of it. Now that he had allowed his lust to come to the surface, it had taken over everything else.

With a soft laugh, Harry pulled back. “Come to Versailles with me,” he said. “And you can get all of me.”

Distraught, Louis blinked a few times. “That’s unfair,” he croaked.

“That’s negotiating,  _ mon chéri _ .” Harry gave him a smug smile and a wink. “Come to Versailles. Say yes.”

“Yes,” Louis finally conceded, sick of fighting it. “I will.” He tried pulling Harry down into another kiss, desperate for his body, but Harry moved up and out of his reach, laughing.

“Oh, no, not until we’re at the palace and you’ve proven you meant what you said. I need guarantees before I spread my legs.” He smirked and then winked. “Come, now, I have to teach you how to eat like a proper person, your table manners are a disaster.”

With a sigh, Louis followed Harry to the table, wondering if he had not just willingly stepped into the worst mistake of his life. He was weak when it came to beautiful man, how pathetic.

* * *

The implications of what Louis had agreed to dawned on him the next day, after a fretful night of sleep. He had agreed, without conditions, to move to Versailles to pretend he was someone else. It must be a crime, surely, to impersonate a member of the court, and oh, what if Louis was miserable and wanted it all to end, would he even be allowed? How far would the act go, would Louis be expected to offer proofs?

Worried sick, he barged into the prince’s room without knocking, sure to find him in bed early on a Sunday morning. As expected, he was still asleep, though the sound of the door banging shut behind Louis woke him up with a startle.

“Louis?” he asked, running a hand down his face and yawning. His hair was a mess of tangled curls, the sight tugged at Louis’ heartstrings. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t just go to Versailles with you,” Louis said without preamble. He began pacing the room, barely aware he was doing it, thrumming with nervous energy. “Just… just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t just give up my life!”

Harry yawned again and sat up against the headboard, his eyes heavy with lingering sleep. “It’s very early for this conversation.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Stop pacing, take a seat, at least.” Harry slipped out of bed and put the silken bathrobe over his night shirt before taking a seat in an armchair, yawning again. “What’s bothering you?”

Louis stayed up, unable to just sit down and relax. Instead, to keep busy, he walked over to the window and pushed the curtains open, going through the room and doing the same for each window. His back to Harry, he found it easier to speak. He had to get to the heart of this.

“I can’t go to Versailles without… without a clear plan.”

“We have a plan. You pretend to be a noble.  _ Un comte _ , I was thinking.”

“But what if it goes wrong? What if I hate it, or they need me here? Would I be able to leave?”

“I suppose so,” Harry replied, shrugging. “It’s not a prison.”

“You  _ suppose _ .” Louis sighed, his mind working quickly to find a solution he would be comfortable with, one that would make jumping into the unknown less terrifying. He paused his pacing when an idea came to him. “Three months.”

“Three months?”

“I give you three months. If, after three months, I hate it, I get to come back here without an argument.”

“But if you like it?” Harry asked, hesitant. Louis let the thought that Harry seemed worried that he might lose Louis settle in for a moment, relishing it.

Louis shrugged. “I suppose I’ll stay,  _ if _ I’m happy.”

“You have to really try, though. It’s not a game, for me. I want you to come with me and be happy.”

“Well, I…” Louis faltered, perhaps understanding for the first time that Harry was completely sincere in his invitation. “I do want to be happy, but you have to understand… what you’re asking of me. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll protect you. My friends are under my protection. But if it makes you feel safer to have a trial period, I agree to your offer. Three months, so until winter.”

“Until winter.” Louis nodded. He walked up to Harry and extended his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

Harry took his hand, but instead of shaking it, he turned it over and pressed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “We don’t need to seal the deal. I trust you to be true to your words.”

Louis let out a breathless laugh, his heartbeat going wild. “You know what you’re doing…”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking up at Louis through his eyelashes, a portrait of feigned innocence.

“Getting what you want, no matter what it is.”

“It’s my greatest talent, yes. I hate when people say no to me.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high, though,” Louis warned him, snatching his hand away. “I’ll probably hate the palace.”

“That’s impossible,  _ mon chéri _ . I’ll make sure of it. Now, shall we have breakfast together?”

Far from reassuring Louis, it made him worry more. What if he did end up loving the palace and decided to spend his life there, what would become of him? He kept these worries from Harry, convinced that the man would find a way to sweet talk them away, making Louis forget, for a moment, why he had been scared. He needed to keep his head on straight for what was to come.

* * *

Though Harry had said he would give Louis lessons on life at court, Louis had assumed he was joking. Surely, there was not so much to learn that Louis needed a formal education on it. They barely had a week to prepare for it and there were much more pressing matters, like finding Louis things to wear and, perhaps even more important, telling Louis’ mother of his departure. Which is why, when Louis woke up the next day to find Harry standing in his room, he nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise.

“What are you doing down here?!” he asked, pressing a hand to his startled heart. “You can’t just stand there and watch me sleep!”

“I wasn’t sure how to wake you up,” Harry explained, shrugging. “I’m here because we have no time to waste, I need to train you for court.”

Sitting up in bed, Louis rolled his eyes. “You already lectured me about how to hold a fork, what more is there to learn?”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall and counting off on his fingers. “How to walk, how to talk, what to talk about, who’s who and how to address them, the rules of the palace, when and where you’ll be expected to be, and I’m sure I’ll remember more as we work!”

“You said it would be easy for me.”

“I didn’t want to scare you away. It’s not  _ complicated _ , but there’s a lot to know. I’ve been thinking about it since I made the offer, there’s more to life at court than I first thought. It’s just… it’s normal for me, you know? So, I never considered how it might be for an outsider.”

Louis pressed his lips together. “Isn’t it a bit late to come to that realisation?” His stomach had tightened into knots to see Harry expressing doubts about their already terrible plan.

“Perhaps, but we will also have the time it will take to get to Versailles to work on your education, I have hope we might be able to get you ready for court. And it begins now, with clothing. Show me what you have so I can select the best outfits.”

Louis swung his legs out of bed and got up, self-conscious at once to be in his nightshirt in front of a prince, and in front of a prince who  _ wanted _ him. Louis cleared his throat and opened the chest where he kept the few clothes he owned.

“This is it,” he said. “All I own.”

“But what about, say, the clothes you wear on special occasions? Or for church?”

“You saw them Saturday night.”

“That wasn’t…” Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh,  _ oh _ , we’re in trouble.  _ Those _ were your best clothes?!”

“Yes,” Louis replied, his voice flat. The prince had ruffled his feathers. “Yes, I’m afraid I don’t own anything made of embroidered silk.”

Harry was silent for a moment, then nodded to himself. “I’ll send your measurements to the palace so they can have a few outfits ready for you. We’ll just have to sneak you inside, or… or say you prefer to travel in comfortable clothes, though that’ll mark you as an eccentric before they even met you… or we could stop in Paris on our way, that might be safer.” He was mumbling, thinking out loud, and though Louis hated to be talked about as though he was a project, he did enjoy the concern the prince had for his wellbeing.

“Would it be so bad if they saw me dressed like a  _ paysan _ ?”

“Oh, but yes, of course! First impressions are vital at court and it’s what will either make or break your identity as the  _ Comte de Vermandois _ .”

“Is that who I am?”

“Yes, yes, I forgot to tell you. You’re from  _ la généralité de Soissons _ .”

“Where is that?” Louis asked, bracing himself for Harry’s reaction.

“I have so much to teach you!” Harry shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “Get ready and meet me in my apartments. We cannot waste a second more!”

He walked out of the room, but not without winking at Louis first.

Louis had planned to talk to his mother that day, but it seemed like Harry had decided otherwise. Putting on his cleanest clothes, Louis grabbed a bite to eat before making his way upstairs, gazing longingly through every window he walked by. Working outside in the heat seemed almost inviting next to what lay ahead of him.

Harry was sitting at his table when Louis arrived, scribbling rapidly on a piece of paper. He barely looked up when Louis entered.

“Come here, I’m making a list of all that you need to learn so I don’t forget anything important. There’s another quill, write down your measurements for the tailor.” He paused and looked up. “You can write, yes?”

“Oh, fuck off, of course I can write,” Louis snapped, sitting down. “I don’t know my measurements, though.”

“I asked my valet for a measuring tape, it’s over there,” Harry replied, waving his hand distractedly across the room. He pulled a piece of paper from a pile and slid it across the table. “You need all of these.”

With a sigh for show, Louis got up and began measuring his body. He liked to pretend he was annoyed, but the thought of a brand-new wardrobe of luxurious clothing excited him. He had never owned anything that could be described as ‘beautiful’, but he remembered a time when a  _ duc _ had visited their town and how much the bright yellow fabric of his jacket had shone under the sunlight. Inspired, Louis wrote down his favourite colours alongside the measures, underlining ‘blue’ a few times to get the message across.

After a moment, Harry finally looked up from his list. He had managed to smear ink on his forehead and Louis resisted the urge to wipe it away, knowing that Harry would not allow to be touched until they were in Versailles. In his situation, Louis would do the same thing and uphold the condition he had established.

“Right, so the first thing to work on is your posture, very obviously.”

“ _ Very _ obviously?” Louis straightened his back, piqued.

“That’s better. But barely. Look at me, I’ll show you.”

This demonstration was the first of many for the rest of the day as Louis was taught how to sit, walk, talk, and behave like a member of high society. Every breath he took, it seemed, had to be carefully planned and taken according to a series of rules that made little sense to him. Harry was a passionate teacher, though, which helped Louis tolerate the lessons. He seemed thrilled to pass on his knowledge, perhaps because he felt that all he had been trained to be from birth finally had a use.

Mealtimes, which Louis had hoped would provide a break, were also filled with corrections of the way he sat, held his utensils and ate. It felt to Louis as though everything about him was wrong and, by the end of the day, his nerves and patience were frayed, requiring all of his self-control not to snap at Harry. He had asked for this when he agreed to go to Versailles with him, it would be unfair to get angry, but he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. No matter how fond he had grown of the man, how much he wanted him in his life and in his bed, there was a limit to the amount of criticism Louis could tolerate.

The rest of the week was not easier, barely giving him any time to prepare his departure. He had stolen a moment away from Harry to talk to his family, guilt gripping his heart as he lied about his reasons, saying he was going to work for Harry, for a season, and perhaps longer if he was satisfactory. It was easier to lie than to explain exactly why he was leaving; it made no sense to him, it would do nothing good to try and tell his family the truth.

The morning they were set to leave finally came, though Louis felt in no way ready to part from everything he had ever known. He had never travelled further than the town’s limits, never been away from his family for longer than a few days, and the immensity of what he was getting into was finally dawning on him in the form of a violent nausea that he could not shake away.

The carriage was ready before sunrise, but Louis had been awake for long enough to watch it be prepared through his window. His bags had been packed and left for the valets the night before and there was nothing left for him to do but wait to be summoned. He walked through the castle one last time, saying goodbye to the only home he’d ever known, no matter how much he had cursed it as he tried to keep it standing. Circling back to the kitchen, he finished packing their food for the road and exited, perhaps closing the door on this chapter of his life for the very last time.

He did not look back.

* * *

The cobblestones of the royal courtyard glistened under the rain, the bustle of activity thinned out by the weather, lending an eerie, abandoned feeling to the palace. Louis shivered against the damp and tightened his light blue silk jacket around him, his own reflection in the window looking foreign.

He had arrived at Versailles the day before, in a whirlwind of protocol. Well,  _ Harry _ arrived in a whirlwind of protocol, while Louis was ushered out to the north wing with a hurried promise that Harry would sort him out as soon as he could. He was shown to his room where an entire wardrobe of clothes awaited him in trunks.

The room itself was not exactly what Louis had imagined Versailles would look: white panels covered the walls and the floor was a  _ parquet en losanges _ , which Louis found at once beautiful and ridiculous. Why did  _ floors _ have to be ornamental? His bed had carved posts and the mattress felt like a cloud when he went to bed the night before. The bed dressings were white, but every inch of them was embroidered with white on white details. A set of matching armchairs and a small writing desk completed the furniture. Yet, he had imagined the palace to be  _ more _ .

A knock at the door pulled Louis out of his thoughts and he peeled his eyes away from the drenched courtyard to go open, expecting a valet with his meal, though a part of him hoped it would be Harry.

Instead, there stood a brown-haired man roughly his age, dressed in clothes similar to Louis’, though he seemed to wear them comfortably rather than playing dress up the way Louis felt. The man took a quick bow when Louis answered before straightening up with a smile. Louis mirrored him as he did, frantically remembering the protocol Harry had taught him the week before.

“ _ Votre Grâce _ ,” the man said. “ _ Le Dauphin _ sent me to greet you. My name is Niall.”

No title was offered, though his demeanor made it obvious that he had one, so Louis followed his lead. “I’m Louis.”

“A good monarchic name,” he said with a serious nod before cracking a smile. “My mother is Irish, pardon my heretic name. May I come in?”

“Oh, of course,” Louis stuttered, stepping out of the way and closing the door behind him. He watched him survey the room, appraising it, it seemed. “You didn’t tell me your title, how should I address you?”

“By my name,  _ de grâce _ . Titles make things so boring. Do you really care? I don’t even know where Vermandois  _ is _ , why do I care if you’re the  _ comte _ of it?”

“Ah, so Ha— _ le Dauphin _ told you about me.”

Niall snorted a laugh. “Yes,  _ Harry _ told me about you. I’m to be your guide for this crazy place. Come, now, I’ll show you around. You’re not in prison, you know. We expected you last night at supper.”

“I… didn’t know…” Louis hesitated, “even if I’d known about a supper, I wouldn’t have known where to go.”

“Which is why I’ll show you around. Come on!”

Louis followed Niall out of is room. The tour began in the north wing, where Niall explained that most of the court resided. He showed Louis where his own room was, six doors down the hall from Louis’, and explained how this small society worked.

From the north wing they made it to the main building of the palace. Niall did not need to say they had crossed a threshold into another building; from one room to the next, the sobriety gave way to opulent excess, gilding shimmering in the light of the hundreds of candles filling the massive candelabras above their heads. Out of the wide windows, the marble courtyard looked as slick as ice. This what what Louis had expected from the palace.

“There’s a lot here I won’t show you,” Niall explained, taking turns left and right in the maze of hallways and rooms. “You don’t need to see  _ les appartements du roi _ , for one. I’ve never even seen them myself beyond his  _ salon _ .”

“So, where are we headed?”

“ _ Les appartements du Dauphin _ , of course. He’s expecting us.”

Louis’ heart skipped a beat. He had missed Harry, though it had been less than a day since they parted. Amongst every new foreign thing he had to get used to, he longed for the familiarity of his friend.

Niall continued, unaware of Louis’ change of mood. “This is the lower gallery,” he explained as their footsteps on the chequered marble echoed around them on the round arches of the ceiling. “On days when it is not raining, we often meet here to walk through the gardens.”

“ _ We _ ? Who’s we?”

“The  _ Dauphin _ ’s court. You and me and others like us.” Niall glanced at Louis, confused. “You do know you came here to be part of his court, yes?”

Louis felt colour rising in his cheeks, realising he had asked something quite stupid. “Yes, of course, why else would I be here?”

At the end of the gallery, instead of walking through the door like Louis had expected, they turned left. Before Louis could ask, Niall paused in the doorway.

“That door there leads to the antechamber to his bedroom. I’m not taking you that way  _ today _ .”

The emphasis on the last word did nothing to Louis’ flush. It seemed Harry had told Niall everything there was to know about Louis, outside of his secret identity. Though Niall seemed unfazed by it, Louis felt shame burn through his veins.

“Through here,” Niall continued, “to the state cabinet. It’s usually where he sees us.”

Guards stood by the closed door and they nodded at Niall before opening the doors for them. The room they entered was decorated in shades of green and gold, light and airy despite the gloom outside. A few of the plush green chairs were occupied by men lazily discussing amongst themselves, maybe six or seven of them, each of them a mirror image of Louis and Niall. Louis found Harry, standing by one of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back.

From where Louis stood, he could only see his profile, standing, it seemed, taller in his princely clothes than he did when he tried to dress as a peasant. The green of his jacket nearly matched that of the curtains and furniture. Louis smiled; it was his favourite colour, without a doubt.

He turned when he heard them come in and a wide smile spread on his lips at the sight of Louis. “Louis!” he exclaimed, walking up to them.

The room’s attention turned to Louis and he took a deep bow, panicking under its weight. “ _ Votre Altesse _ .”

His eyes fixed on the floor, Louis heard a chuckle.

“Oh, please,” Harry said, grabbing him by the arm to make him stand up. “We’ve had this talk before, haven’t we?”

The sight of Harry – of Harry as  _ le Dauphin _ – knocked the air out of Louis’ lungs. His brown curls falling perfectly on his shoulders instead of in a wind-tousled nest; his broad shoulders adorned with the delicately embroidered emerald silk of his clothes, perfectly tailored to outline the shape of his body, miles away from the shapeless shirts from before; the way everything seemed to circle around him, like a subtle pull towards wherever he stood; everything about this Harry exuded royalty. The contrast between what Louis had known and what now stood before him was vertiginous.

“We… have,” Louis stammered, nodding slowly. “I wasn’t sure… here…”

“Here, in this room, we are amongst friends,” Harry explained, still smiling at Louis. “They all know our story, how my carriage broke down on your lands and you kindly took us in.” Placing his hand on the small of Louis’ back, briefly, he began walking him around the room. “I would introduce you to everyone, but you’re likely to forget. I’ll let you meet them in your own time.”

“Is that how we met?” Louis asked in a whisper.

“I panicked when they asked me.” Harry shrugged. “We’ll try not to spread this story too much. People don’t have to know everything about you, it’s fun to keep a bit of mystery.”

“And safer, too,” Louis added, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd, their eyes following them as they moved around the room.

“How are you holding up? I’m sorry I had to abandon you in such a cavalier way yesterday, I felt terrible. How is your room? Did you sleep well?” Harry asked when they reached the far end of the room, out of reach from the curious ears of the onlookers.

“My room is perfect and I slept as though I was on a cloud. And I understand, you explained the rules to me. I knew what to expect.”

“That’s good, I’m glad everything was great for you. Do not hesitate to join the others for meals, though, your absence was noticed.”

“Niall told me, but you’re to blame. You never told me about that part.”

“Oops,” Harry said with a chuckle, turning serious at once. “I forgot to tell you about another thing, a big one.” He sighed. “Your presence here is… an indulgence I’m allowing myself. I wanted to check on you, but you cannot stay. Niall will take you away in a moment.” Before Louis could protest, Harry held up a hand to silence him. “You haven’t been officially presented to the King and I. There’s to be a ball on Friday, to mark my return and the beginning of the social season. Niall will present you to the court and me, and only then will you be allowed to attend my  _ salon _ .”

“Won’t it cause a scandal that I’m here now?” Louis glanced, once more, at the other men in the room.

“No, they’re my closest friends. They’ll keep quiet, they know better than to run their mouths. But you cannot be seen here by my father’s court, which is why you ought to leave, soon. I’m terribly sorry, but I promise to make it up to you. After Friday, there’s something I want to show you. A place very special to me.”

Though Louis’ heart had sunk at the words, he nodded and forced a smile on his face. “You suffered for me, it’s my turn, now.”

Harry smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He touched Louis’ arm for a second. “Soon, I will tell you everything I think about the sight of you dressed like a  _ comte _ .” Moving closer, talking in a voice barely above a breath, he added, “and then I’ll tell you everything I think about the idea of your clothes on my bedroom floor.”

A shiver ran down Louis’ spine and he swallowed thickly. In the chaos of the past days, it had been easy to forget the real reason of his visit to Versailles, to forget the prize he was promised.

“Saturday?” Louis asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Harry looked pleased. “Friday night, after the ball. We will escape. Now, go, before I forget why you must leave.”

Harry ushered him to the door and Niall politely left the conversation he had been having to follow along. The rest of the visit felt like a blur to Louis, his attention already towards the upcoming ball and the night that would follow it. He supposed he should be worried about being presented to the King, and he would be it when it would happen, but at the moment, he only cared about finally having Harry.

* * *

Life in Versailles got increasingly better with every day leading up to the ball. Louis left his isolation to join Niall and his friends, and though he felt like an intruder with his lies, he still preferred their company to solitude. They were fun, besides, and made him feel welcome from the start, as though having been chosen by the  _ Dauphin _ made him immediately part of their group.

Though he felt more accepted, Louis still missed Harry’s companionship. How attached he had grown over the summer was no surprise, but he had not anticipated how much his presence by his side was now second nature. Being without it felt like a part of him was missing, even if most of what they did together was argue. He  _ liked _ the arguments, he liked having someone willing to challenge his temper and stubborn mind. He caught glimpses of Harry now and again, as he was walking through the gardens with his new friends, and it only made him long to talk to him more.

The day of the ball arrived and a frenzy descended over the castle and it set Louis’ nerves on fire. With Niall’s help, they chose what he would wear and they rehearsed his introduction to the King until Louis could have done it in his sleep. Still, when he woke up that morning, it was like a nest of vipers had set residence in his stomach.

Louis went through the motions of the day, letting his new routine carry him around like the current in a river, and before he knew it, it was time to get ready. He put on his outfit, the light blue and golden of it promised by Niall to blend in perfectly with the ballroom, and followed the crowd towards the  _ galerie des glaces _ , where the ball was to take place. Niall had told Louis about that room, but nothing could have prepared Louis for the sight when he walked in.

One wall of the long gallery was covered with mirrors, facing the floor to ceiling windows on the other. The doors had all been opened to let in the warm night breeze, the dying heat of summer still lingering in the air. Candelabras hung from the heavily ornamented ceiling and the hundreds of dancing flames reflected in the mirror, filling the room with a constellation of stars. Everywhere he looked, gold reflected the lights, as though casting a light of their own. The hum of hushed voices filled the room, mingling with the sounds of the  _ orchestre de chambre _ in a far corner to create a soothing melody. At the end of the gallery stood two empty thrones.

“They’ll be coming in soon, I suppose,” Niall said, checking his pocket watch. “They like to make an entrance. Come, let’s get champagne,” he continued, leading Louis by his elbow towards one of the valets handing out delicate flutes.

“This room…” Louis began, shaking his head as he looked around.

“I know,” Niall replied with a small laugh. “You never get used to it. I’ve been here for years and it still takes my breath away.”

Louis took a sip of his glass and dragged Niall along when he saw a table covered in  _ petits fours _ and other delicacies, preferring to keep to the edges of the room rather than venture deeper into the crowd. Just as Louis was biting into a  _ chou à la crème _ , the room fell silent at once. He turned on his heels and saw that a pair of doors had been thrown opened and that everyone had turned their attention to them. He quickly swallowed his treat and wiped his hands on his trousers before joining the crowd.

“ _ Sa Majesté le Roi et son Altesse Royale le Dauphin _ ,” a voice called and at once, in a rustle of silks and petticoats, everyone bent into a deep bow.

Louis quickly imitated them, keeping his eyes on the floor, though his curiosity itched to look up at the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Harry had looked delightfully regal every time he had seen him that week, he could barely wait to see him in his best attire for a ball. He hoped he would be wearing green, it suited him so well. In a much more down to earth matter, his legs were cramping, and he wondered how much longer they were required to bow, and whether he would make it. His question was answered when the same voice called that they could rise.

Louis’ eyes searched for Harry and he bit back a smile when they found him. He was wearing green, a rich emerald hue, and Louis’ heart swelled to see he was starting to know him well.

“Come,” Niall whispered, grabbing Louis by the elbow and heading off through the crowd towards the dais. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

“F-farce?” Louis asked, barely keeping up, his heart hammering as he understood where Niall was taking him.

“Pretending you don’t know each other.”

They bowed as they approached the thrones, Louis glancing at Niall to see when they should rise. He kept close to him, the proximity to the King’s hard expression making him queasy.

“ _ Votre Majesté, Votre Altesse _ ,” Niall began, “I present to you  _ le comte Louis de Vermandois _ . He has come to stay at court for a while.”

“Welcome to Versailles,  _ Votre Grâce _ ,” Harry said, his voice cold though there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I hope you will find your stay pleasant.”

Louis bowed. “I’m sure I will,  _ Votre Altesse _ .”

“Enjoy the ball,” the King said briskly, barely glancing at Louis, before waving his hand.

Niall grabbed his elbow once more and pulled him away and towards another flute of champagne, letting out a chuckle once they were out of sight from the dais. “Well, at least he addressed you.”

“What do you mean?” Louis took a long sip of his glass, hoping that the golden liquid would ease his heartbeat.

“The King. If he hadn’t said anything to you, you would have never been allowed to talk to him. He has to talk to you first. He  _ hates _ when Harry brings new men to his court.”

“Why?” Louis asked, glancing back to the dais where someone else was being introduced to the royals.

“People talk, with reason. You think you’re the first he brings for…  _ fun _ ?” Niall asked, emphasising the last word in a way that made Louis’ stomach sink.

“I don’t have that pretention, no,” he replied, finishing his flute and reaching for another. “Let’s go back to the food, I’m hungry.”

Louis crossed the room, stopping a few times to greet people he had met that week, finding himself in a group by the time he reached the sweets once more. He followed the conversation as well as he could, but the gossip went over his head as names he had only ever read about in newspapers were whispered in conspiratorial tones, followed by barely contained giggles.

“Who are we gossiping about?”

Louis startled at the sound of Harry’s voice. He had not noticed him approaching. The group wordlessly shifted to allow him inside the circle. Their eyes met and Harry winked, making Louis roll his eyes in reply.

“ _ Le Baron de Bensenval _ ,” one of the men replied, causing Harry to laugh.

“Oh, I heard about that one, an actress, isn’t she? We should go to her next play, just to piss off  _ le comte de Valbelle _ , no?” Harry said, laughing harder at the mock offended gasps that his words caused. “We were all thinking it, don’t make these faces. Now, I have to go be a good prince to foreign visitors, but we meet at the usual spot at eleven.”

With that, Harry was gone, the crowd parting around him as he crossed the room.

“What’s at eleven?” Louis asked, reaching for a pink  _ petit four _ that had been nagging at his curiosity – and gluttony – for a while.

“Hide and seek in the gardens,” Niall replied. “For those interested. I don’t usually go, but you should.”

“Why don’t you go?”

“You’ll see later.”

Niall’s words stayed with Louis for the rest of the evening, though their weight got lighter as he drank more and more champagne. He did not dance, not wanting to invite a woman and risk an onslaught of gossip so soon after his arrival. Watching the dancers was fun enough, especially as the alcohol numbed his mind and blurred his vision, turning the sumptuous outfits into swirls of moving colours, ebbing and flowing all around him under the star-like lights.

“Come, it’s almost time,” a voice whispered in his ear, pulling on his arm, and Louis obeyed, following the man out.

They walked through the gardens, the paths lit up by lanterns, until they reached a fountain made of golden statues of children playing on rocks. A few of Harry’s friends were already there, discussing in hushed voices. The quiet of the night was almost palpable, and Louis, too, felt the urge to whisper rather than break the silence. At the sound of crunching footsteps, they turned as one and saw Harry approaching.

“Louis, good, you’re here,” he said as he joined them. “Ready?”

“I don’t know the rules,” Louis replied, feeling left out though it was perfectly normal that he did not already know the rules to a game he had never played.

“We get into pairs and one of us hides and the other has to find him,” Louis’ guide from earlier replied.

“Why pairs?”

Giggles rose from the small group, but a stern look from Harry cut it short. “Why do you think?” he said, walking up to Louis.

Their eyes met and Louis felt a shiver go through him. He understood at once and nodded, turning to the group. “I will pair up with  _ le Dauphin _ .”

Harry laughed, whispering so only Louis could hear: “I love being claimed.” He turned to the group. “Let’s get started. Louis, you go hide. Go!”

With a laugh, his heart going wild from the excitement of the moment, Louis took off in a clumsy run, the alcohol in his veins and the gravel underfoot making him slip. He took turns at random, looking for somewhere to hide, until he found a small alcove with a bench flanked by two statues. He slipped in between the hedge and a statue and waited, trying to quiet down his heaving breathing, though his giddiness made it hard.

He could hear footsteps on the path nearby as he waited. Sometimes, they were the slow, leisurely pace of people enjoying a stroll, but a few of them were the running pace of someone taking part in their game. He hoped Harry would find him quick; he was growing cold and was eager for what was to come.

The wait stretched on and he began wondering if it had all been a set up to humiliate the newcomer, get him lost in the gardens to see how gullible he was. He had not heard running footsteps in a long time, so it was plausible that the game was over – if there had ever been a game – and they had left him to wait in his hiding spot until morning.

Frustrated, Louis stepped out of the alcove and back on the path, determined to get back to the castle and to his room so he could wallow in his humiliation alone. He had barely taken a dozen of steps before a call of his name made him stop.

“There you are!” Harry said, breaking into a jog to meet up with him. “I’ve been looking for you!”

“I was hidden…” Louis retorted, shrugging. “It was the point of the game?”

Harry burst out laughing at that. “You hid for real? Oh, you silly man! I suppose I should have made it clearer. The name is a misnomer… it’s more like a chase than a proper hide and seek? You took off so fast and I lost track of where you had gone.”

“I was… I was over there, behind a statue.” Louis pointed behind him, feeling like a fool.

“Show me,” Harry asked and he followed as Louis retraced his steps.

“I was there.” Louis demonstrated, slipping back behind the statue for a second before stepping out again.

Harry smiled. “Behind Apollo, how fitting,” he said, moving closer to Louis. He brushed his fingers along his jaw, lifting up his chin. “Though Bacchus might have been more suited. How drunk are you right now? I watched you all night, that was a lot of champagne.”

“Mostly sobered up, it took you long enough to find me.” Louis pushed his hand away, his pride piqued. “What’s it to you?”

“I don’t want to take you to my surprise if you’re too drunk to make your own choices.”

Louis smiled as he remembered the place Harry had promised to show him. “I’m sober enough to know I want to go wherever you’ll take me.”

“Good,” Harry replied, before he burst out laughing, pressing their foreheads together as he tried to stifle it with his hand. “I can’t believe you hid for real!”

“Oh,  _ va te faire foutre _ !” Louis replied, laughing too. He pushed Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s smile turned wicked and he grabbed Louis by the hips, pulling him closer. “If you insist,” he said, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lips.

Louis melted against him, finally,  _ finally _ getting what he came to Versailles for. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him in, returning the kiss eagerly. Clumsily, they stumbled backwards to the stone bench. Louis winced when the back of his knees hid the edge and he sat down, dragging Harry along. In his eagerness, he caused Harry to tip over and Louis had to lean back on the bench, holding himself up on his elbow as Harry braced his weight with a knee on the bench in between Louis’ legs, never once breaking their kiss.

Deftly, Harry’s fingers flew to the buttons of Louis’ jacket to undo them, and Louis stopped him, pulling out of the kiss regretfully. “I’m not fucking you in the gardens. This bench is too cold to get naked on it.”

“But you would have done it if it had been warmer?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Even in the dim light of the nearby lantern, Louis could see that his lips were swollen red.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,  _ Votre Altesse _ .” Louis grinned. “Maybe another time, with a blanket…”

Harry grabbed his face between his hand, locking their eyes. “I will hold you to this.” He smiled. “Now, come. I know where we’ll do it.”

Wrapping his fingers around Louis’ wrist, he set out through the maze of garden paths, walking further and further away from the palace.

“Harry? Where are we going? I said I wouldn’t fuck you on a stone bench.”

“Hush. I know. We’re almost there.”

As he said it, Louis noticed a small castle up ahead, its windows twinkling from the orange glow of candles. “What’s that place?”

“The Petit Trianon. It’s mine and mine alone. No one is allowed here without my invitation.” He turned to smile at Louis. “We won’t be bothered here.”

A guard opened the door for them and they stepped in. Louis looked around as much as he could, but Harry pulled him along hurriedly across the chequered floor and up the winding staircase to the second floor. He only let go of Louis’ wrist when they had entered a small bedroom and he had shut the door behind them.

The walls of the room had white trimmings, reminiscent of Louis’ own bedroom in the palace. The curtains and upholstering were covered in small flowers on a white background, and everything had a green trim. Louis smiled, looking around fondly.

“This is lovely. It’s very  _ you _ ,” he said, turning to Harry.

Harry closed the distance between them and put his hands on Louis’ waist, kissing him. “I’m glad you think so. I was thinking we could spend a few days here. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you since you arrived, I want to make up for it.”

Leaning in to kiss him back, Louis shrugged. “I understand why you couldn’t be. I don’t expect the  _ Dauphin _ to drop everything for me.”

“Now I’m all yours, though. All night…” Harry whispered, letting his lips travel from Louis’ lips along his jaw and down to his neck. He resumed what he had started in the gardens, unbuttoning Louis’ shirt as he peppered his skin with kisses.

Louis let his head fall to the side to allow Harry better access to his neck, his skin covered in goose bumps. It had been months, perhaps over a year since he was last touched this way and he clung to Harry’s hips, pulling him closer.

“Do you want this?” Harry asked against his skin.

“Stop talking,” Louis replied, trying to hold on to the last shreds of his pride. He would not beg, “and take me to bed.”

Harry pulled back to grin at him and nodded. He walked Louis backwards towards the bed while helping him shed his jacket and shirt, and then lifted Louis by the waist to sit him on the mattress, stepping between his legs. He inched Louis’ head back, holding him by the jaw, and bent down to kiss him deeply, drawing a moan out of Louis’ lips.

Louis’ hands flew to Harry’s clothes, working at the delicate buttons with shaking fingers, tugging at the clothes to try and get them off Harry. Harry let out a laugh against his lips and joined in the efforts, helping Louis work his way through the ruffles and complicated fastenings until they finally managed to send the clothes to join Louis’ on the floor.

“Finally,” Louis breathed out as he ran his hands over Harry’s chest, tracing the muscles he had seen develop over the summer. “I’ve wanted to touch you this way for so long.”

“I’ve wanted you for longer,” Harry teased, manoeuvring Louis further back on the bed so he could climb on it, laying him down as he continued placing kisses on his lips. “Almost from the time I found you under that tree. That moment when you didn’t know who I was and you looked me up and down… did you want me then?”

Louis pulled back to look at Harry, frowning. “Do you want the truth?” When Harry nodded, Louis let out a chuckle. “I was thinking how ridiculous your clothes looked. Did you think I was, what, appraising you?”

Harry’s lips turned down into a pout. “I was hoping you were.”

“No, I only began wanting you when you annoyingly began working shirtless.”

“Why do you think I was?” Harry replied, his pout turning into a smirk. “I’m  _ very _ good at getting what I want.”

“Like when you stood naked in front of me before begging me to come to Versailles with you?”

“I didn’t beg! I  _ flirted _ .”

“Is that what you call it? Interesting,” Louis teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

Harry dove in, pressing Louis down into the mattress and kissing him. Any coherent thought he might have had to reply flew out of Louis’ mind and he wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him in closer, letting his fingers run through his long curls. Louis let his hands travel down Harry’s back, dragging his nails along his skin, pleased when he let out a groan against Louis’ lips. Reaching the waistband of his trousers, Louis moved to the front so he could unlace them.

Looking up for a moment, he caught Harry’s eyes on him, biting his lip as he watched Louis work. Louis winked at him as he pushed his trousers down enough to wrap his hand around his cock, pulling it out and beginning to stroke it slowly.

“F-fuck…” Harry breathed out, resting his forehead against Louis’.

Louis shifted the angle to kiss Harry, nibbling at his bottom lip and brushing their noses together. He sped up his hand, relishing the noises Harry let out. He liked his lovers to be loud and Harry seemed like he would give Louis exactly what he wanted.

“Can I fuck you?” Louis murmured into his ear.

Harry moved back with a start, looking down on Louis with a frown. “That’s not… how it goes. Usually.”

“Never?”

Harry shook his head. “Not since… my first few times, when I was younger and, well… smaller.”

Louis could not fight back a smile. “It’s not a matter of size.”

“It’s how it usually goes.”

Louis shrugged, trying to sound as light as possible to help Harry relax. “Don’t you want to try something new?” Pulling him down by the nape of his neck, Louis kissed him. “I’d quite like to get a prince under me, begging for my cock… no, sorry.  _ Flirting _ for my cock,” he said in between kisses.

He felt Harry shiver and smiled, knowing he had won. It had taken a while to understand this about Harry, that he liked to be teased, and now that he knew with certainty that he did, Louis was going to use it to his advantage.

“There’s… there should be oil in the wooden box on the table,” Harry replied, rolling off Louis to lie on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Louis hopped off the bed, working on the laces of his trousers as he walked to the table. He opened the box Harry had mentioned and found a bottle of oil, which he picked up. Turning back towards the bed, he let his trousers fall as he made his way back, his heart hammering under Harry’s unwavering gaze. Stepping out of them, Louis climbed on the bed and knelt by Harry’s side.

“Look at you, already looking so wrecked with your trousers undone and your cock out,” Louis said, voice soft and cajoling. Louis ran his free hand down Harry’s stomach, hovering it over Harry’s cock to pull his trousers the rest of the way down, helped by Harry.

Shifting around, Louis gently spread Harry’s legs and settled between them, stroking the pale, thin skin of his inner thigh. He uncorked the bottle of oil with a ‘pop’ and used it to coat a few of his fingers. Through it all, Harry’s eyes never left him, but as he ran his slick fingers down the length of his cock, giving his balls a few playful tugs, they flew shut and he let out a moan.

Slowly, Louis slipped a finger inside of Harry after having stroked over his hole a few times, observing his face closely to make sure he was not hurting him. Though his jaw was tense, which Louis understood all too well, he did not complain, so Louis began moving his finger back and forth, building up a rhythm and smiling, reassured, when he saw Harry relax and heard him sigh out in pleasure.

Louis still took his time preparing Harry, wanting to make it good so he would be willing to repeat the experience. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and Harry’s occasional moans, and though bursts of voices and laughter were still coming from the gardens through the open windows, Louis barely noticed them.

“Enough…” Harry breathed out after a moan caused by Louis twisting three fingers in rattled through him. He reached blindly between his legs and pulled at Louis’ wrist. “I’m ready.”

Louis smirked and reached for the oil once more, this time using it to coat his cock. He stroked it a few times, though it was barely necessary. The state of Harry had been enough to get him hard.

“Eager,  _ Votre Altesse _ ?” he asked as he lined himself up between his legs.

Harry shifted lower on the bed, spreading his legs wider, shamelessly on display for Louis. “Are you going to do it, or n—”

Louis pushed his cock in, cutting off Harry and turning the end of his sentence into a loud moan. He let one out as well as he pressed his hips against Harry’s bum, his cock all the way in. Grabbing at one of Harry’s legs, holding it higher as leverage, Louis began fucking him increasingly faster, letting Harry’s reactions guide him.

Their banter from earlier was far gone. Louis could barely hold on to his mind enough to think about changing the pace or angle from time to time; talking was out of the realm of possibilities. Underneath him, Harry was dissolving into a mess of broken half-sentences and moans loud enough that Louis was convinced they could be heard by the few straggling partygoers still out in the gardens. The thought made him groan and push harder.

One of Harry’s hand flew to his cock, letting go of the sheet it had been pulling at and smacking Louis’ side on the way, and he began tugging at it without much rhythm, and with a shout of ‘ _ oh, merde, Louis _ ’ he came, painting his chest with white streaks, his back arching off the bed.

He tightened around Louis as he did and it nearly sent him over the edge, but he held on a bit longer, thrusting hard enough to move Harry up the bed each time, and with a final groan, he came as well, burying his cock deep inside of Harry as he trembled through it.

Carefully, Louis pulled out and collapsed next to Harry on the bed, chest heaving under the efforts. No one said anything for a beat, and then Harry burst out laughing, burying his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” he said, shaking his head. “ _ Louis _ .”

“That’s my name,” Louis replied, though he thought he understood how Harry felt because it mirrored his own feelings. “I know.”

Harry moved his hands away to look at Louis, eyes wide and pupils completely blown. “I’ve never been fucked like that.”

“Like what?” Louis was fishing for compliments and he cared very little about it at the moment.

“Like I’m just a normal man, not a prince that needs to be coddled.”

Louis shrugged, though Harry’s words flattered him. “I fucked you like I fuck any lover I take to bed.”

Harry smiled, shrugging, too. “I’ve never been anyone’s  _ any _ lover.” He rolled to lie on his side, cushioning his head on his folded arm, and kissed Louis. “Thank you.”

Louis smiled into the kiss, a twinge going through his heart. “Anytime,  _ Votre Altesse _ . Possibly again tonight, though I will need a quick nap before I can go again.”

“And I’ll need to wash you out of me,” Harry said, pushing himself up to get out of bed.

Louis held him in place. “Keep it there. We can take a bath together at the end of the night, but for now… keep it there.”

Harry settled back down in bed and nodded, pulling Louis against him and wrapping him up in his arms. “We’re going to have so much fun over the next three months,  _ mon chéri _ ,” he whispered, his voice sounding almost like awe.

Louis found himself at a loss for words as his heart went wild, though he refused to think of the reason why these words had unsettled him so. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips and closed his eyes, settling in for a nap, Harry’s warm embrace soothing him to sleep.

* * *

After the hectic week that marked his arrival at the palace, the slow, lazy flow of the next few days were a welcome reprieve for Louis. Away from life at court, the hours stretched endlessly, every minute savoured fully in the company of each other. They had been alone together in Bourbon-l’Archambault, yes, but there had been work to do, keeping them busy and always on the edge of exhaustion, wanting nothing more than their bed at the end of the day.

The one thing Louis struggled with, though, and it became glaringly obvious as the days trickled by, was that he did not know how to do nothing. It had been fun, at first, to laze on a  _ récamier _ in the sun, reading a book Harry had recommended, but after the second day in a row doing only that, Louis had lost his interest and was growing restless. Seeing his discontent, Harry offered they go on walks, and they were fun, at first. The gardens were gorgeous and immense – Louis was glad he did not have to worry about maintaining these ones – and the conversations they had with people they met were interesting, but that, too, had quickly lost its lustre.

They had been at the Petit Trianon for a week, now, and their routine was becoming comfortably set. Louis usually woke up first, used as he was to early mornings, and he would laze in bed as he waited for Harry to wake so they could order their breakfast. The days were still warm enough to sit outside on the terrace, basking in the morning sunlight and that was where they ate every morning. These moments were Louis’ favourites, when the day still held every possibility, and he could still cling to the hope that Harry would not announce that they had to go back to the palace. He did not want to go back to the palace, preferably ever, though he knew it was an unrealistic hope.

The clink of Harry’s cup against the saucer brought Louis’ attention back to the moment, tearing his gaze from the butterfly he had been watching flutter around a nearby rose bush.

“What shall we do today?” Harry asked, stretching lazily, the silk of his bathrobe shining in the light. “We could go on another walk?”

Louis groaned, scrunching up his nose. “Is there nothing else we can do than read or go for walks through the gardens?”

“Hm, well, I’m sure my father would love for me to join him for whatever council he has planned today, but you wouldn’t be invited and I would choose death over that option,” Harry teased, grinning. “Are you already growing tired of being idle?”

Louis grimaced some more. He hated how well Harry had been able to read him from the moment they met. “I just wonder if there isn’t something more that we could be doing?”

“What, like charitable work?”

“No, no, but some  _ activity _ , perhaps.”

“A picnic, maybe?”

Louis pursed his lips, pondering the offer. “Yeah! A picnic! That’s an activity. And you get your walk.”

“ _ My _ walk? What am I, a  _ caniche _ ? I am quite content doing nothing, you know. We were walking for your pleasure.”

“I’m sure this sounded better in your head,” Louis replied through a laugh. “Oh, but a picnic is exciting, is there some place we could explore, say… quieter than the palace gardens? Because you know within minutes your friends will have joined us.”

“There is, yeah. I’ve been meaning to take you there, I was waiting for the right moment.”

Louis lifted an eyebrow at the look of mischief that had appeared on Harry’s face. “How needlessly mysterious.”

“I have to keep things interesting, you’re so easily bored.”

Shaking his head, Louis got up and headed back inside. “Just get ready and let’s go, it’s almost midday, already.”

Louis should have known better than to expect that rushing Harry would yield results. His eagerness to go on the small adventure that Harry had teased did not translate to the  _ Dauphin _ and he went through the preparations for the day at a glacial pace. Or, perhaps, he was doing it on purpose, sensing that Louis was excited and wanting to build his anticipation even more. Between choosing clothes appropriate for the day and getting their food basket ready, they were well into the afternoon by the time they left the Petit Trianon, heading away from the palace and deeper into the gardens.

The sun was still high in the sky, though the weather had cooled as they moved into September. Cicadas were still singing like it was the middle of summer, though, and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees surrounding the path they were on filled the air with a fresh, green scent that reminded Louis of home.

_ Home _ , Louis was surprised to find himself thinking of Bourbon-l’Archambault as home. He had never considered it as such, he always saw it as living in someone else’s house, but now that he was away from it for the first time, he found that it was his home, after all. Derelict, exhausting, but home nonetheless. He did not miss it, per se, not when his life had gotten so much easier now that he was pretending to be a  _ comte _ , but the familiarity of it was appealing in the face of everything he still had to learn about the palace. Almost a month into the bet and he still was not sure of the outcome.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, now?” Louis asked after a moment, needing to get out of his thoughts before he ruined the mood of the day.

In the distance, he could hear the gentle lap of water, and wondered if he had lost his sense of direction and missed that they were headed back towards the  _ grand canal _ .

“We’re almost there.”

He smelled it before he saw it, the earthy smell of animals wafting through the air and making him frown. “Is that…” he asked before trailing off at the sight of a lamb in an enclosed pen. Looking further away, he saw a few more, alongside grown sheep, and he turned to Harry in confusion. “Are we on a farm?”

The smile of Harry’s face could have rivalled the sun. “In a way. This is my  _ fermette _ . It’s my last escape, when even the Trianon won’t do.”

“And it has… livestock?” Slowly, pieces were put together in Louis’ mind. “Oh my god, your visit this summer… this was just to get the real experience of what you’re trying to achieve here!” He burst out laughing. “You’re something else,  _ Votre Altesse _ !”

At the sound of Louis’ laugh, Harry’s smile faded. “Don’t mock me, please…”

Louis shook his head. “No, no, I’m not!” He tried to control his laughter, raising his hands, placating. “I promise I’m not. It’s a good laugh, I’m surprised by how… genuine you turn out to be. I thought you were humouring me this summer, but you truly,  _ truly _ enjoy this… this pastoral lifestyle.”

“Well, yes… Don’t get me wrong, I’m spoiled rotten and I relish being waited on, but… I also see the appeal of a simpler life.”

Smiling, Louis nodded, though his mind wandered to the bottle of champagne and the lavish spread of food they had waiting for them in the basket. If this was Harry’s definition of a simpler life, and if it made him happy, Louis would let him keep his illusions. Even the life he had had over the summer had been an illusion; the work had been real, but he had still been treated like a noble despite lying about his identity. Louis was not about to get them started on a debate, not when the day was as beautiful as it was.

“Show me around, then,” he said instead, hooking his arm through Harry’s.

They circled the lake slowly and Harry detailed his little plot of land, explaining that he had been inspired after he visited a Normandy village to recreate it for himself, and his input along the way to make it come to life. He talked about every building and their purpose, and though it had everything ready to be a proper farm, it was seldom used. They stopped from time to time to gaze at animals – Louis was particularly fond of the goats – and finally arrived at the main house.

The inside of the house surprised Louis when he walked in, though he wondered why as soon as it happened. It was a toned down version of Harry’s apartments, out of place in a recreated small Normandy house, but it made sense that the  _ Dauphin _ would want to preserve his comforts, even in the depth of a fantasy world.

After a quick tour of the house, they headed back outside and found a patch of grass to lay out their blanket and settle down for the picnic. They were surrounded by wildflowers and the constant humming of bees that came with it, and Louis lied down on the blanket and closed the eyes, the sun warming his skin in a pleasant way.

“This might be the last beautiful summer day that we have,” Harry commented and Louis opened his eyes to glance at him.

He was sitting up, resting his weight on his hands, and had his face turned towards the sun, his eyes closed. In the light, his long curls shone with flashes of copper. Louis smiled to himself at the sight of him.

“It might. We’re almost in October.”

“Hm. And we’ll have to go back to the palace soon. My father must already be enraged to see me gone so long.”

“Why? Why does he care?”

Harry sighed. “He’s preparing me to be King, though I am a reluctant pupil.”

“You still have many years to prepare, why the hurry?”

“He says that I am such a lost cause that he must use every second he has.”

“And how does that make you feel? To know you’ll be King, someday?” Louis sat up as he spoke, digging around in the basket to tear a piece of bread from a baguette. He unwrapped a wheel of cheese and spread some on the bread, offering the first bite to Harry, who took it with a smile.

“Awful. I try not to be… ungrateful, but it sounds more like a prison sentence than a hopeful promise. But then I spend the summer with you and I see that I’m being a terrible person, that any of these farmers I met would kill to have a life like mine, where they get to sit on their ass all day and give orders without any consequences.”

Louis was silent for a moment, weighing his words. “Can I say something?” When Harry prompted him on, he continued. “You are… very critical of yourself, in the sense that… you understand your situation. You have perspective, I suppose is what I’m trying to say. It’s surprising.”

“You helped me. This summer helped a lot, to… to make me realise how unnatural my life is. It’s exactly what I sought out. See, in my opinion, I could never be a good king if I have never had even just a glimpse of what people live like. Real people, not my retinue of  _ comtes _ et  _ ducs _ who probably don’t even know where vegetables come from. But I do, now, I know the hard work required to grow just a single carrot, you see?”

“I see, yes. And I think you’ll be a good king, you know. Maybe because you don’t seem to want any of this.” He gestured with his hand towards the palace. “It might make you the best king this kingdom has ever had.”

Harry turned to face Louis, his emotions etched on his face in a way Louis had never seen before. He had not expected his words to have that effect and he leaned in, hoping to soothe some of Harry’s visible turmoil with a kiss.

“I don’t think anyone has ever believed in me this way, Louis,” Harry replied, stroking Louis’ cheek with his knuckles. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Louis kissed him again, crawling up on his knees towards him. “I’ve seen the worst of you, down on your hands and knees in the dirt and cussing me out because I was torturing you with physical labour. How much worse can you get with your royal bum perched on the plush cushion of a throne?”

Snorting a laugh through his nose, Harry grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him closer as he lied down, letting Louis perch over him. Louis tried to get comfortable, shifting his knees around to try and find a spot that did not have pebbles to dig into his skin through the blanket.

“Now, I remember we said something about sex in the gardens?” Louis said, sitting up on Harry’s hips to begin tugging his shirt out of his trousers and off him. “I think we’re secluded enough to risk it.”

Harry grinned and nodded, obediently lifting his arms over his head to let Louis remove his shirt. “I think we did, yes.”

“Good, good,” Louis replied, grinning as he bent down to press kisses down Harry’s chest, moving downwards over the soft, tanned skin of his abdomen.

Louis moved slowly, taking his time to kiss and nibble as he travelled down, his hands already working on the laces of his trousers. Harry began laughing as Louis reached his belly button, which made him smile into his skin.

“Are we ticklish,  _ Votre Altesse _ ?”

“It’s your…” Harry paused to laugh again, “Your hair on my nipple.”

Louis raised his head at once, frowning. “I don’t know how long you think my head is, but…” he let out a gasp, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat. “It’s not my hair, Harry…”

“Then what…?” Harry asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down his body. He turned pale when he saw the spider crawling across his chest, frozen for a second before he let out a shout and brushed it away, sitting up straight and grabbing his shirt to clutch it to his chest. “Oh my god, this is not… this did not just happen!”

“I’m afraid it did…” Louis said, fighting back his laughter by biting his lip. “Should I leave you two alone, or…?”

With a yelp, Louis dodged out of the way as Harry launched at him, getting up and breaking into a run when he saw that he was being chased. He ran for a moment before he let Harry catch him, thinking, as Harry pulled him into a kiss, that this was a memory he needed to sear into his mind forever.

Moments like these could not last forever. Summer would end and autumn would not be so kind to their budding love. Autumn would bring with it a choice that Louis had to make, one he had no answer for, one that scared him for the weight it carried.

For now, though, he would let Harry kiss him breathless by the side of an artificial lake, bordered by an artificial  _ hameau _ , in the midst of an artificial life, and it would be enough.

* * *

The morning that Harry announced that they had to head back to the palace, the sky opened up and rain came down in ropes as they stepped out of the Petit Trianon to rush into a carriage. The rain did not relent for the next week, as though mirroring Louis’ mood to be back at court. Their honeymoon – because this is what it had felt like – had ended and he wondered if he would ever get another chance like that one to spend time alone with Harry.

October rolled in, bringing with it colder temperature, turning the hallways draughty and Louis’ room uncomfortably cold, were it not for the fire that seemed to magically always be roaring. He knew the trick, though, and he always tried to smile gratefully when he happened upon a maid in his room, though they would scurry away before he could try and talk to them.

The social season was at its peak and most evenings, Louis found himself sat in the King’s salon, playing cards amongst Harry’s circle of friends, bored out of his mind by the King’s self-aggrandizing stories. He had asked Harry if their presence was mandatory, to which Harry had groaned and rolled his eyes saying that ‘ _ no, not technically, but he’s angry that I was gone for so long, so we’re all trying to get me back into his good graces _ ,’ and the conversation had ended there. If, at first, the court gossip had amused Louis, the same stories repeated over and over were beginning to grate on his nerves, and he began to wonder how much longer he would be able to take it before he gave up and decided to head back home. Were it not for Harry, he would probably already be gone.

From afar, life at court had seemed dazzling and easy, in stark relief from the life Louis led in the countryside. He had imagined endless thrills and excitements with never a dull moment, the way stories portrayed it. The reality was a shock, still after nearly two months there. He was no clearer about the outcome of the bet than on the first day, and it was beginning to stress him out. Soon, Harry would expect him to decide and, of course, he knew the one Harry wanted him to make. Louis worried, though, as he became more acquainted with Harry’s social circle, whether he was only a temporary lover, new and exciting, but eventually replaced by someone newer and better. He wanted to believe he held a special place in Harry’s heart, in part from their shared past, but some days, as he watched him charm and laugh another, Louis wondered when he would be replaced.

It was not as bleak as Louis sometimes perceived it in his moments of doubts, though. They may not have time together like they did at the Petit Trianon, but Harry still found moments for them. Stolen kisses when no one was looking, smiles and winks whenever someone said something outrageous; Harry made visible efforts to let Louis know his presence was appreciated, and that he was included, no matter how little they could even just talk to each other. Louis longed for more, but he knew that being seen on Harry’s arm would bring too much attention on him and his web of lies might fall under the scrutiny. It was safer in the shadows, though it meant getting but crumbs of Harry’s attention.

One night in late October, an ordinary night like all others, as they were making their way to the King’s salon like they had done for the past month and would probably for the one to come, Harry intercepted them at the door. He placed a finger against his smirking lips before handing out pieces of paper as they walked in. He held Louis back after the others by grabbing his wrist, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“What’s this?” Louis whispered.

“You’ll see. Just follow the instructions,” he replied with a wink before making his way into the room, leaving Louis alone in the hallway.

Louis unfolded the piece of paper and read.

_ There is a masquerade in Paris tonight. When the clock strikes ten, I will yawn and say I am going to bed early tonight, and you will leave with me. Carriages will wait for us, with costumes already in them. It’s time we have some fun, isn’t it? _

Louis’ heartbeat quickened as he read the scrawled words. A secret expedition to a Parisian ball was exactly what he had imagined life as a noble would be, and he could not be happier that it would finally happen.

He could feel their energy and excitement crackling through the air as they sat through another of the King’s tales. Louis could barely sit still as the minutes ticked by, and he had to make a concerted effort not to glance at the clock too often, instead keeping his eyes steady on his cards. He did not trust that he could keep a straight face if he met Harry’s gaze. He even forced down some of the food that he usually enthusiastically ate, though this time his anticipation had ruined his appetite. The macarons and petits fours were making him nauseous, but he had to pretend like everything was normal.

A few minutes after the clock struck ten, Harry stretched and yawned, and Louis felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. It was happening.

“I’m going to go to bed, now, I think, Father. Thank you, as always, for the lovely evening,” he said, voice cajoling, as he got up. “ _ Messieurs _ ,” he addressed to his friends, and still Louis avoided his eyes so he would not ruin it by letting out a nervous laugh, “you may come with me.”

They got up as one and said their goodbyes before following Harry out of the room. They stayed calm and composed as they made their way out of the King’s apartments, not daring to be seen in a suspiciously good mood, and it was only once the final door had been shut that Harry turned to them with a grin and a wink.

“This way,” he whispered, quickening his pace until they were out of the palace using a side door that Louis had never seen before.

It felt devious to be sneaking out of the palace, in a way Louis had never felt before. He relished it, leaning into the foolishness of pretending that they were forbidden to attend the ball, forbidden to leave, forbidden to be out of their rooms at this hour. For the evening, he wanted to feel wild and free.

Stepping out of the door, they found three carriages waiting for them.

“You four, in this one,” Harry began instructing them. “You three, in that other one. Louis, with me here.”

Pride swelled Louis’ heart as he climbed into his carriage. He waited for Harry to close to door before pulling him into a kiss, his hand wrapping around the back of his neck. Harry let out a laugh against his lips, returning the kiss before moving back to smile. In the warm glow of the lantern, his eyes glowed with mischief.

“This is so exciting,” Louis said, mirroring Harry’s smile. “Finally, something fun!”

“Haven’t I been fun?” Harry asked, placing a hand on his heart in mock offence.

“Yes, but this is a new kind of fun. The kind I’d imagined when I came here. It’s a nice change from… well. You know.”

“My father’s  _ salon _ , yes.” Harry shook his head, rolling his eyes. “He gets worse with age. I think his memory’s failing him. But let’s not talk about him, let’s talk about who we’re going to be tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, eyeing the blue and white stripped box that Harry had picked up from the seat opposite them.

Opening the box, Harry handed Louis a  _ loup _ made of delicate emerald green lace. Harry’s favourite colour, Louis realised as he took it in his hands. Harry retrieve another one for himself, this one light blue.

“I mean that I’m not  _ le Dauphin de France _ , tonight. I get to be whoever I want, and so do you.”

“I’m already someone else here, it might get complicated, don’t you think?”

“You could be a peasant who came to Paris to get a taste of nobility?” Harry offered, smirking.

Louis let out a chuckle. “So, tell the truth?”

“Why not? It’s the safest disguise you could get. Hidden in plain sight. Here, let me…” Harry took the mask from Louis’ hand and gently tied it around his head, planting a kiss on the nape of his neck when he was done. “And I will be the countryside lord who accompanied you to the big, scary city.”

“Won’t people recognise you?”

Harry shrugged, handing his mask to Louis so he could put it on him. “They know better than to say that they do.”

“If you’re so sure…” Louis said, tying Harry’s mask, careful not the get his curls caught in the bow.

“I’ve done it before. Besides, I told no one but us that we were going, so people might not even believe that they saw me. They’ll think they’re mistaken.”

Reassured, Louis nodded and smiled. “Good. I wouldn’t want to risk anything.”

“Tonight, we only have fun. Don’t worry about anything except making sure you save me most of your dances.”

Louis laughed. “Oh, no, I don’t dance.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,  _ mon chéri _ . You will dance with me at least once,” Harry replied, putting on an authoritative tone. “By order of the  _ Dauphin _ .”

“Oh, but I thought he wasn’t attending the ball.” Louis batted his eyelids to add to the quip. “I’m just a modest peasant you’ve convinced to come to the city with you,  _ Votre Grâce _ .”

“Oh, are you, now?” Harry asked, playing along with an amused smile. “How did I convince you of such a thing?”

“You charmed me, sir. You… promised me you would take me into your bed if I followed you here.”

Harry burst out laughing. “I thought we were playing pretend! You make it sound so bad, put like that! Like I… I manipulated you!”

“Didn’t you?” Louis teased, trying to keep a straight face.

“I—no! You wanted me, too! Didn’t you…?” A look of horror appeared on Harry’s face. “Did you?!”

Louis’ fun died in an instant and he rushed to take Harry’s face between his hands, touched by his genuine fear. “Yes, hush, yes, I did want you.” He kissed Harry. “I’m not so easily influenced that the promise of your body would have made me drop everything. Though it is an  _ excellent  _ body, to be sure.”

Harry wrapped his hands around Louis’ wrists, holding his gaze steadily. “Why did you come, then? Truly?”

Louis resisted the urge to turn his reply into a joke spoke truthfully. “I would have missed you when you were gone. I’d grown fond of your company… of you. And I just hope… you will not tire of me too fast.”

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Louis shushed him with a kiss.

“Not tonight, we will discuss this another time. Tonight, we enjoy the ball.”

“But we will talk about this, we must. The three months are coming to an end.”

“I know… soon, I will let you know what I have decided. I promise.”

“Have you not made up your mind, yet?”

“Not quite yet. It’s not something I can take lightly, you understand that, right? I would be uprooting my entire life. But I am thinking about it, truly. I’m not keeping you waiting as a game.”

Harry nodded, the worry etched on his face easing. “That is good enough for me.” He leaned back into his seat and looked out the window into the darkness. “This will be your first time in Paris, hm?”

“Unless you count our rushed visit to get me clothed, yes.”

“Paris is best at night time, so you’re in luck.”

“Why do you prefer it at night?” Louis asked.

“The  _ réverbères _ make it look like the night sky.”

Louis frowned. “I don’t know that word.”

“Street lamps. Lanterns, lighting up the streets to make them safer. It’s a lovely sight, you’ll see.”

Louis said nothing in reply, but he smiled to see that despite having everything at his disposal, Harry still found a way to be charmed by the simplest things in life. One would expect him to be jaded by his own supremacy, but he remained curious and open to the small wonders of the world. Louis wondered how many of Harry’s friends knew that he liked, above jewels and luxury, picnics, farm animals, and street lights.

He had not been lying, either, about the charm of Paris at night. Louis saw it appear in the distance, twinkling lights like stars laid out ahead of them. From another carriage, he heard a shout of “Paris!” that made the two of them laugh, and though his excitement had dulled in the quiet of the road, it came back in force as they began navigating through the narrow, uneven streets. They were jostled in their seats and laughed about it, and by the time they stopped, Louis felt giddy with delight.

“There it is!  _ L’Opéra de Paris _ !” Harry said with a flourish of his hand, pointing to the tall building outside.

Louis made to step out of the carriage, but was startled to find a footman opening the door and offering him a hand to help him out. He took it, gingerly, and looked up at the building. He smiled when he felt Harry’s hand against the small of his back.

“Molière used to work here,” Harry said in a low voice. “If you stay longer, I will take you to an opera here someday.”

Louis did not say that he had no idea who Molière was, instead only nodding and smiling at Harry before offering his arm. “Shall we go in,  _ Votre Grâce _ ?”

The doors were opened for them and they were immediately swallowed by a wave of music and voices, laughter and boisterous conversations swelling all around them. The room was large, yet it felt crowded, packed full of revellers in masks and extravagant dress. The ladies’ gowns took up most of the space, Louis noted with an amused smirk as he narrowly avoided being hit by the  _ paniers  _ of a  _ robe à la française _ when its wearer turned to talk to someone.

“Champagne?” Harry asked, offering Louis a flute as though he had made it appear out of thin air.

Louis took it and smiled as Harry clinked their glasses together before they took sips, his eyes still taking in the scene. The centre of the room was occupied by dancers while the rest of the crowd stayed to the outskirts, as well as on the stairs and balcony surrounding the room. Harry’s friends had disappeared amongst the crowd as soon as they arrived, and, worried, Louis kept close to Harry. He would be in a dire situation if he lost sight of him. He need not worry, he realised soon, because Harry kept a hand on his back as much as he could, even as they navigated deeper into the crowd.

“This is far from the ball we had at the palace!” Louis commented over the music and he watched as Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You already forgot who we’re supposed to be? People could hear!”

Louis laughed and clasped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry! I’m getting lost in the layers of my lies! I meant to say, ‘this must be very different from the balls they have at the palace, don’t you think?’”

Harry rolled his eyes, shook his head, and took a sip of champagne. “Palace balls are boring, you don’t want to attend one. Everyone has to be so proper in the presence of the royal family.”

“They don’t come here?”

“Some people say they’ve seen the  _ Dauphin _ here a few times, but they’re not to be trusted. He would never risk it.”

Louis laughed and turned to watch the dancers, mesmerised by the swirls of colours and shimmering fabrics as they twirled around the floor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he was aware of the attention Harry was drawing, of the murmurs of disbelief that were beginning to rise around them as people thought they were recognising him. He could feel Harry tensing in the pressure of his hand on the small of Louis’ back, in the straight line of his back and shoulders, in the squaring of his jaw.

“That was quick,” Louis whispered and he saw Harry give a curt nod. “Should we leave?”

“No, we just got here.” Harry finished his champagne in one sip and then took Louis’ hand in his. “Let’s dance. People are already staring, so let’s give them a reason.”

Before Louis could reply, Harry was pulling him towards the centre of the room, barely giving him enough time to down his champagne and hand the glass to the nearest person.

“Are you sure?!” Louis asked. “People will talk. This might get to your father’s ears.”

Harry shrugged, pulling Louis against him with one hand on his back and the other clasping his. “I don’t care. I’m allowed to have fun, too, and dance with whoever I want.” He leaned in to whisper into Louis’ ear. “And it’s you I want the most.”

A shiver ran down Louis’ spine and he took a step closer to Harry on instinct. They were too close to dance, too close for propriety in public, and yet Harry ignored it and began leading them into a waltz.

Louis could feel the crowd’s stares as they twirled around the floor, their eyes boring holes into him, making him feel self-conscious about every step he took. It was obvious that he had never danced before from the way he stumbled through the steps, sometimes only kept upright by Harry’s grip on him. He wondered who people thought he was, and if they wished they were in his place, and his heart swelled with pride to know that it was him who was dancing with the  _ Dauphin _ , him that Harry had chosen.

There was a lull in the music as the musicians moved on to the next piece, and they stopped dancing to catch their breath. Harry was grinning, his eyes sparkling with happiness and, when he leaned in to kiss Louis, Louis let him, throwing caution to the wind.

He heard gasps and focused on the feeling of Harry kissing him to block out the sounds, trying to forget where they were for a moment to concentrate on the rapid beating of his heart and Harry’s arms around him, holding him close, almost protective.

“I can’t believe you’ve done that,” Louis whispered once they parted, pressing his forehead to Harry’s. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Maybe I have,” he replied, winking. “Another dance,  _ monsieur _ ?”

Louis cast a glance around them, finding, as he had expected, everyone’s attention on them, and he shook his head. “Perhaps we better leave.”

“We only just got here!”

“But we’re causing a scandal.”

“That’s my problem to worry about, not yours. Another dance,  _ allez _ , don’t make me beg you.”

Louis closed his eyes for a second, to centre his mind, and then he sighed. “There’s no telling you no, is there?”

“Not really, no,” Harry replied before pulling Louis along to the music, grinning. “Ignore your worries and have fun, just for one night.”

And so Louis did, heeding Harry’s advice and letting go of what was not, in the end, his problem. If Harry wanted to risk a scandal and a slandering of his name in the press, so he would, and Louis had no control over it. He let Harry convince him to dance for most of the evening, until his feet surely must be bleeding in his uncomfortable shoes, and there was champagne, too much of it to keep track, and when they finally stumbled out of the  _ Opéra _ , a pale morning sun was rising. They climbed into their carriage where Louis forgot to worry about Harry’s friends, whether they had already left or were still inside, letting Harry pull him into his lap to kiss him, hands roaming over his body in a drunken, messy manner.

Once back at the palace, to Louis’ surprise, through the haze that filled his mind, he realised that Harry was taking him to his apartments for the first time and he gladly let himself be taken to bed, sinking into the lush mattress with a sigh that turned into a yelp of surprise and delight when Harry began undressing him.

In that moment, as sleep and alcohol erased the parts of him that worried too much, Louis knew he was going to stay once the three months were over. He hoped he would remember his certainty once he had slept and sobered up, because this was what he truly wanted, beneath everything else that made him doubt. He wanted to be with Harry, no matter the requirements for it.

* * *

In the following days, courage failed Louis whenever he tried to tell Harry he had made up his mind. He hoped Harry would bring it up himself, but like a perfect gentleman, he kept quiet on the topic, perhaps because he feared that pressuring Louis into a decision would lead to one he would regret. More than once, the words were on the tip of Louis’ tongue, but he kept quiet, doubts filling him as soon as he was about to open his mouth.

The King began feeling unwell as the autumn weather worsened and they were freed from his salon, meaning that Louis did not lack opportunities to speak his mind, either. The ball and the following night – or day, rather – spent together in Harry’s apartments had deepened their bond and Louis had grown used to being met by a footman in his room every night to escort him back to the  _ Dauphin _ ’s. Even if he knew that Harry expected his visit every night and he might have made his way there directly, he liked the thrill of the useless ritual. He had endless evenings and nights to tell Harry that he would stay, and as the days passed and the end of the three months approached, he could feel the pressure of time running out, which only made him more tongue-tied.

On the day that marked the beginning of his final two weeks in Versailles, Louis woke up with the determination to tell Harry that he would stay longer—forever, if he would have him. It was a bright, cold day when he woke up and the pale November sunlight, present after days of rain, filled Louis with courage. He would talk to Harry that night, when they were alone in his room, as soon as he arrived instead of fooling himself into thinking that he could wait until it was time to be escorted back to his own room for the night, only to watch his resolve fade.

Harry was nowhere to be found during the day, despite Louis’ search through the hallways of the palace and his inquiries to everyone he met. No one had seen the  _ Dauphin _ that day, though they had heard the King’s health that taken a turn for the worst and he might be looking after his father. Louis filled the hours by going for a walk in the gardens, the cold air helping to keep his nerves at bay. He had a bad feeling about the situation, though he knew part of it was the conversation he worried about. With nothing to do all day, his mind could run free and imagine the worst scenarios: Harry might have changed his mind and decided he did not want to keep Louis. He might get tired of him a few weeks after Louis decided to permanently move to the palace. The King might die and as the new King, Harry might send him back to his countryside  _ château _ , no longer needing the follies of his youth. That last one stung the most, the King’s health making it dangerously plausible.

Louis only came back to his room when he felt as though he was frozen down to his bones and he requested a bath to soak in, both in an attempt to warm up and to ease his mind. He ate dinner in his room, too preoccupied to join the others, and he sat down with a book to wait for the footman to come and escort him to Harry’s room. When the clock struck eleven and he had still no visitor, Louis went to bed with a heavy heart and a knot in his stomach.

It seemed like he had only been asleep for a handful of hours when he was startled awake by the sound of a church bell ringing nearby. He sat up straight in bed and waited, holding his breath. It rang again, a lone bell cutting through the quiet night, its sound chilling Louis to the bone worse than the cold had earlier in the day. The  _ glas _ , he thought, swallowing thickly and counting the tolls. A third, then a fourth… five, six, seven, eight, nine tolls.

Nine tolls for a man’s death. Louis knew, then, though it felt unreal. He got out of bed and pushed open his curtains, looking out into the courtyard where there already was as much activity as if it were the middle of the day. Carriages were being brought forth and footmen were rushing around, packing them with trunks and boxes as dishevelled women were being ushered along. The King’s mistresses, Louis realised, and his blood turned cold, moments before there was a knock at his door.

“ _ Entrez! _ ” he called and he turned to see two footmen accompanied by one of Harry’s counsellors, the three of them looking frazzled.

“ _ Le roi est mort _ ,” the counsellor said and Louis nodded, opening his mouth to reply. He was cut off when the man continued. “You need to leave, now. A carriage is waiting for you.”

“L-leave?” Louis asked, though he knew why.

“The King is tying up loose ends.”

“But he’s dea—” Louis trailed off.  _ The King _ meant Harry, now.

He watched the footmen haphazardly packing a trunk with his belongings, leaving everything that did not fit behind before taking it out of the room. The jewels Harry had given him in the past week, as they had grown closer, most of his new clothes, they were left where he had stored them.

“Get dressed, now. Hurry, we don’t have all night,” the counsellor said, throwing clothes at Louis.

He did not give him the privacy of turning around, instead watching over Louis as he slipped on the clothes and ran a hand through his hair to try and tame it.

“Most of my stuff is still unpacked,” Louis said, making his way to a dresser to retrieve his jewellery box.

“Leave it, there’s no time,” the man said before grabbing him by the arm and steering him out of the room.

He did not let go until Louis was climbing into the carriage. He slammed the door behind him before heading back inside. Dazed, in shock, Louis muttered a reply to the coachman when he asked where they were going, and he stared out of the window as they departed. It seemed like every room was lighted up inside of the palace, and Louis’ heart ached to think that in one of them, Harry was mourning his father and his freedom.

His sadness was slowly replaced by anger as the man’s words came back to Louis: ‘ _ the King is tying up loose ends _ ,’ he had said. It had to mean that Harry was the one who gave the order to get rid of Louis, to unceremoniously throw him out of the palace and back where he came from now that he was no longer needed. It would not do to have a commoner as his lover and it was too unpleasant to send him away himself. He could not even be bothered to send a word of farewell, or a promise that he would write. Louis was being thrown out of the palace like spoiled food and he was just supposed to take it without a word? He regretted being so meek when he was escorted out. He should have resisted, should have shouted for Harry, so that he would be forced to come and give him an explanation for his terrible treatment of Louis.

All of this time spent together and this was how he was being treated. It was a blessing, after all, that Louis had not had the courage to tell Harry he wanted to stay. How ashamed he would be if he had opened up his heart to Harry, only to be thrown out a few hours later! Truly, his reticence had been a sign, a guardian angel protecting him from further heartbreak.

He hoped Harry would be miserable as king. It was what he deserved.

* * *

The anger Louis felt on his way back to Bourbon-L’Archambault persisted. It was nearly sickening how it griped his heart and refused to let go, shortening his temper and making him insufferable for his family. He knew he was being unfair to them whenever the slightest frustration made him snap, but it was beyond his control, like a wild animal lashing out in defence.

The way he had been treated was inexcusable. He could not get over it, he could not accept it and move on. Harry had made promises, made Louis believe he was important, and then he had thrown him out like last season’s clothes. No goodbyes, no letters, just sent away in the middle of the night like the shame he was.

It kept him up at night, this seething, bitter anger, and it pushed him to work harder during the day. Harry had kept his word that he would send people to maintain the castle and Louis joined them, helping as best he could, until his hands were raw and his entire body ached. He had grown accustomed to the palatial life, his body had gone soft. He pushed it harder, wanting to forget idleness, forget comforts, forget he had ever stepped foot in Versailles.

November turned to December and winter slowly settled in, and it sometimes felt to Louis like his heart was growing as cold as the land. His anger faded, turning to a heavy, immobilizing apathy. He began struggling to get out of bed, sometimes lying motionless for hours before his hunger won and he made his way to the kitchen, only to find a seat by the hearth and stay there for the rest of the day.

The planning of Harry’s coronation made the newspaper headlines and he had thought he would find satisfaction in using the pages to stoke a fire, but he found that he felt nothing as he watched them shrivel and curl in the flames. He had carefully read the article, had tortured himself imagining what the coronation would look like, filling in the details he was missing with his imagination, probably rendering it more grandiose than it truly would be through the romanticised memories he kept from Versailles.

He could hardly believe he ever complained about being bored while at the Petit Trianon, when these days were the best he had ever lived, in retrospective. How entitled was he to have taken for granted the quiet comforts of spending every moment of his day with a man he lo—he could not form the thought; his courage failed him when it came to face a truth he wanted to bury deep and never look at again.

* * *

One morning, he woke up to the sound of bustling activity all around him. His curiosity was enough to draw him out of bed without having to will himself to do it for an hour. It could not be a visitor, no one in their right mind would travel in the dead of winter, and yet he found no other explanation for the panic everyone seemed to be in.

He got dressed and left his room, headed for the kitchen in the hopes to find his mother and ask her what was happening. Before he could, though, she grabbed him and recruited him to go help the footmen, saying that the Duc de Vendôme was arriving, soon, unannounced. The name rang a bell, Louis thought as he grabbed a bite to eat and headed upstairs to help prepare the rooms, but he had met so many _ducs_ and _comtes_ that he could not put a face on most of their names.

He could not shake one thought as he worked, no matter how hard he tried: he had a feeling of  _ déjà vu _ , sending him back to the previous summer when it was—no, he could not give in to these ideas because he would only be disappointed. Besides, he did  _ not _ want to see him, so it was useless to imagine it might be him. He was king, now, he could not leave the palace whenever he wanted under a fake alias. It was not safe for the soon to be  _ Roi de France _ to travel incognito, surely? If he died on his way, no one would ever know what happened to him. It made no sense and so Louis pushed the thoughts aside and finished scrubbing the floor he had been slowly working on all morning.

The manual work made him feel good, like he had not felt since winter brought the renovations to a halt, and he was almost in a good mood when he walked over the windows to aerate the room and help the floors dry. Looking outside idly, he found his gaze on the carriage driving up to the door. His heart sank and he knew he should look away, but hope gripped his heart and refused to let go as he waited, holding his breath, to see who would step out.

The sight of brown curls and a green overcoat made him take several steps back, nearly tripping over a bucket of sudsy water. He let out a yelp and stumbled aside, shaking his head in horror as he took in what he had just seen: it was Harry, without a doubt. For a second, he considered waiting for him in the room, but the idea frightened him and he fled, sloshing water in his path as he hauled the bucket back to the kitchens and buried himself deep inside the bowels of the castle, hoping that Harry would not have the audacity to request to see him. Surely, he knew better than to dare.

His strategy worked for two days. Two days of crawling along the walls and checking every room before entering it, of anxiously listening for footsteps and anticipating the worst, of feeling like an animal in a cage.

On the third day, unable to stand the constant vigilance he had to be under, he wrapped himself up in warm layers and headed outside with the plan to stay away from the castle until night fall.

It was a windy, overcast day, the sky looking as heavy as his heart felt, yet Louis pushed forward, and still he felt hounded, as though he could not escape Harry’s presence. He had the urge to look back over his shoulder, but he resisted it, not wanting to give in to his delusions, even as he thought he could hear his name being called over the howl of the wind.

“Louis!” he heard clearly and a chill ran down his spine. He stopped walking and stayed where he was, still refusing to look back. He shut his eyes and waited, hoping for the nightmare to end.

The squelch of footsteps approaching in the muddy ground made his heart beat faster and he swallowed thickly, bracing himself.

“Louis,” he heard Harry say, his voice breathless under the efforts to keep up with Louis’ strides. “Wait.”

“Go away,” Louis said, still keeping his eyes shut. He did not trust himself to look into Harry’s face and stay strong.

“Talk to me, please.  _ Please _ . I just need an explanation…”

“ _ You _ need one? What about me?!”

Louis staggered where he stood under a gust of wind and he took a step to the side to get his balance, moving away from Harry at the same time. He opened his eyes and glared at him, nearly losing his footing again at the onslaught of emotions that the sight of his face brought up.

“What… what about you?” Harry asked, frowning.

He looked tired, Louis noticed, then hated himself for noticing.

“Don’t I get an explanation, too? For why you left in the middle of the night when I needed you the most, without a word, leaving behind every present I’d given you?!”

Louis opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He cocked his head to the side, confused. “I didn’t leave,  _ Votre Majesté _ . I was thrown out,” he replied, injecting as much ice as he could into his words.

“I would never!” Harry gasped. “Why would I have given that order on my father’s deathbed?! I needed you by my side that night!”

“And why do you think I would willingly leave?!”

“The three months were nearly over and you saw your last chance to escape me before it all became too serious,” Harry replied without missing a beat.

“I was going to stay! I wanted to stay, but your counsellor came in and nearly threw me out of the door, I did not even have time to pack anything! I thought you had sent the order!” Louis’ voice broke and he steeled himself, refusing to let Harry see how much he was still hurting from what had happened.

“You never told me that! You kept me dangling, waiting on an answer that never came! And then you disappeared!”

“I was thrown out!” Louis took a deep breath, letting the conversation sink in. He conjured up whatever patience for Harry he had left before continuing. “I was going to tell you I wanted to stay that day, but you never called me to your apartments.”

“I was busy, my father was dying,” Harry retorted coldly.

“I know, I’m just explaining.” Louis rolled his eyes, his thin patience already wearing out. “I never got the chance to tell you I wanted to stay.”

“Why didn’t you write?”

Louis let out a burst of air through his nose. “I thought I had been thrown out, remember? Why didn’t you?”

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “I thought you ran away.”

Looking at Harry, Louis followed his instinct and made a conscious choice to let go of his anger. The way he saw it, there were two paths he could choose: to hold on to his anger and push Harry away out of bruised pride, or forgive him in the face of the gross misunderstanding they were victims of. His pride had already caused him enough issues, he decided. He was tired of listening to it. He sighed and closed his eyes for a second, and then he let go.

“ _ Nous sommes deux idiots _ . Proud, stupid idiots.”

Harry’s tension eased at once, relaxing his traits and making him slump his shoulders under the weight of, Louis assumed, weeks of the same emotions he had been battling with. He grabbed Louis’ hands in his, their cold skins warming up to the other’s touch, and he squeezed them.

“You wanted to stay,” Harry repeated, as though still unsure he had heard right. “You truly did.” He bowed his head to kiss Louis’ knuckles. “This isn’t the conversation I thought we would have when I came here.”

“It isn’t the one I thought of when I heard you had arrived. I prefer this one, if I’m honest.”

Harry smiled, a small, shy thing that barely existed, but Louis saw it and hardly resisted kissing it. “How did you know it was me?”

“You’re terrible at using a fake identity, haven’t you learned, yet,  _ Votre Majesté _ ?” Louis lied, wanting to keep the upper hand, if only a little.

Harry grimaced. “Don’t call me that. I don’t want to be reminded right now.”

“Reminded of what? That you’re almost the King? How  _ annoying _ ,” Louis teased, lightheaded and giddy from the change in his mood. “You’re  _ le futur Roi de France _ . That’s so unlucky.”

“Don’t mock me. It hasn’t been easy. You know my thoughts on that.”

Louis nodded, squeezing his hands. “I know. And you know how I get around feelings.”

“Stupid?”

Louis let out a chuckle. “Yeah. So… now what?”

“Now you come back to the palace with me. I will give you better apartments, closer to mine. I can do that, now.”

“And I won’t be sent away again?”

“Never, not as long as I live… and I’ll write clear orders that you won’t be sent away even after I die.  _ And _ I will fire the counsellor who kicked you out.”

“And you will love me back?” Louis asked, his heartbeat going wild in his chest at the disguised confession he had just made. He hoped Harry would notice.

The way his cheeks, already reddened by the wind, turned darker, told Louis he had. “L-love you back? Do you mean…?”

When Louis nodded, Harry pulled him into a kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding him close, clinging as though Louis might run away again.

“I’ll make it all work, I promise,” Harry said, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, too. Life has been so empty without you by my side these past months. But promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Louis said, brushing his lips against Harry’s, seeking his warmth as much as his presence, still not quite believing what was happening.

“Don’t keep things from me, not when they’re as important as this was.”

Louis shook his head, amused. “I promise, but I won’t take full responsibility for what happened. No more than half.”

“I can do with half,” Harry conceded, before giving Louis a bright smile. “Now, I’m begging you,  _ monsieur le comte _ , may we please go inside? I’m so cold. I need a long, warm bath.”

“You and your baths,” Louis teased fondly, before he stopped. “Am I still going to have to pretend to be a  _ comte _ ?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m going to make you one, obviously. It’ll just be simpler that way.”

“Huh, I think I’ll like being the King’s favourite.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I need at least three months to decide if you’ll be my favourite or not.”

Louis punched his arm with a laugh. “ _ Va te faire foutre _ .”

With a wink, Harry set off for the castle. “If you insist!”

Happiness bubbled inside of Louis, nearly choking him. He would worry about his permanent move to the palace later, and he would worry about his long-term future by Harry’s side much, much later, years from now, preferably. For the moment, he had a bath and a king to take.

* * *

Louis fidgeted where he stood, trying to stretch his shoulders as subtly as he could. He could feel a trickle of sweat travelling down his spine and he stopped his face seconds before it turned into a grimace at the sensation. He pulled at the collar of his  _ chemise _ , the knot of his cravat too tight in the suffocating August heat.

The  _ cathédrale _ of Reims was filled to the brim with people, their hushed voices rising in echoes through the high stone arches like wind rustling through the trees. The harsh summer sun was pouring in through the  _ rosace _ , painting the still air in bright colours, suspended in the air, shimmering.

From where he stood, Louis could just make out the door where Harry would walk in, but he had a good view of the altar, which was what mattered. Harry had promised he had pulled strings to get Louis to stand as close to the front as was decent, explaining that he would need to see him at least once as he made his way towards his future.

Planning the coronation had kept them busy from the moment Louis moved back to the palace, into the promised apartments. Gone were the bare white walls of the north wing; now Louis resided in the central wing, on the ground floor with a view of the gardens, the heady floral breeze floating in every day reminding him of home. The room was still more sober than that of the royals, but it was miles away from what he had known before, and he was beginning to find ease in this newer version of palace life. His status had changed, though his rank had not, and he felt included in the thriving court life now that he was almost officially the favourite. It helped, too, that he spent every night in Harry’s bed; the secret staircases leading from his room to Harry’s were his favourite part of the palace, by far.

Silence fell on the cathedral so suddenly that Louis worried, for a second, that he was about to faint from the heat, but the sound of the doors opening made him crane his neck towards them to try and catch a glimpse of Harry before he bowed his head to follow along with the crowd.

He listened to the footsteps, waiting to get his timing right, and he lifted his head in time to catch Harry’s eyes searching for his. Harry smiled and winked. In reply, Louis kissed the air and returned the wink before bowing his head once more, not missing the scornful glare from one of his ministers. He stifled a laugh by biting his lip and tried to will his heart to calm down, to contain how giddy it still made him to be the recipient of Harry’s – of the soon to be King’s – affections.

It would not always be summer for them, and hard days surely awaited them as the kingdom would expect an heir and Harry would be pressured into a political marriage, but they would weather that storm together, hopefully better than the previous one. His vow was to be by Harry’s side, to help him shoulder the weight of the crown, no matter the cost. He had had a taste of a life without Harry, and it was not acceptable. Harry was worth every sacrifice that might be asked of Louis in order to stay by his side. They would take care of each other, through thick and thin.

Louis could not imagine a better life.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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